


I have loved you (since we were 18)

by NarryMusings



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, M/M, Slow Burn, Smut, Song fic, based on 18, narry endgame - Freeform, narry storan - Freeform, pining!Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-23
Updated: 2015-04-23
Packaged: 2018-03-25 08:39:07
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 26,554
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3803962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NarryMusings/pseuds/NarryMusings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry falls in love with Niall long before Niall falls into him in return. [Inspired by One Direction’s 18 and companion piece to Eighteen.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	I have loved you (since we were 18)

**Author's Note:**

> This is a companion piece for Eighteen, as told (technically) by Harry. Technically it's also sort of the main piece. 
> 
> 18 is a Narry song and this is why, basically.
> 
> Also, I'm on Tumblr under the same name! :)

The first time Harry realizes he has a crush on Niall, he's 17 years old. And it's not even just one moment; it's a collection of things – Niall's eyes, Niall's smile, Niall's laugh, Niall's larger-than-life personality, Niall's hugs and then all of a sudden there's this implosion of feelings within himself.  


Louis and Zayn are sprawled across the floor playing Mario Kart, Liam's curled up on the bed closest to the window rooting both of them on in between texting Danielle and Harry's sitting with his legs spread out across the length of the first bed, his back against the headboard. Niall _had_ been lying on his stomach at the food of the bed until his phone went off a few minutes ago.   


Harry doesn't _mean_ to start eavesdropping when Niall disappears around the corner to stand in the small space between the door and the rest of the room – but it's a fairly small hotel room so it's easy and, well, he hadn't been that into watching Mario Kart to begin with. He'd been a bit preoccupied with staring at the side of Niall's face before to even know who was winning the race anyway.  


Niall's voice is hushed, a soft murmur of soft words and something stirs inside Harry's chest because Niall sounds tender and loving. Harry wonders if perhaps he's talking to his mum – Niall's voice does tend to get like that when his mum calls.  


But then Harry hears _Holly's_ name – Niall sounds a bit sad when he says it and his voice is a bit breathless – and everything feels...off. His stomach plummets like it's going to fall through the floor, his chest tightens like he’s forgotten how to breathe and his heart twists, throws itself against his ribcage. He can hear his heartbeat in his ears, feels it in his temples and then he feels a bit dizzy, like he can't concentrate on anything except Holly and _Niall and Holly_. And that’s when he _knows_.  
  
X  
  
He tells Ed it's not a big deal. And it isn't, not at first. It's just a _crush_ and it's Niall and it's nothing to get serious about. They're friends – best friends – and band mates and it's only natural, isn't it? Developing a crush on someone you spend all kinds of time with, on and off stage, in and out of hotel rooms. They tell each other everything, trust each other completely; Niall's one of the only four other people in the _world_ who gets it, gets _him_. Developing slight feelings for someone in such circumstances happens all the time, doesn't it? His feelings are just a bit confused, that's all.  


He also tells Ed that one of the reasons he won't say anything to Niall is because of the thing that happened with Louis - because his and Louis' friendship got blown way out of proportion way too quickly. Because _rumours_ and _speculation_ has already put a strain on one of his most precious friendships and the last thing he wants, just in the case that Niall doesn't feel the same way, is to push Niall away as well. He doesn't want things to be weird, doesn't want their friendship to be strained just because Harry couldn't keep a lid on his feelings.   


Especially since it's just a crush and crushes tend to end, right? He can get over this. And he can still keep Niall.  


What he _doesn't_ tell Ed is that it doesn't feel like it's going to go away.  
  
X  
  
Harry knows he's _in love_ with Niall five days after his 18th birthday.   


He's with Nick and Pixie and he's drunk – and he already has a hard time not thinking about Niall when he's sober but he's _drunk_ and now he _really_ can't stop thinking about Niall. Where is Niall? What's Niall doing? Is he having pints too? Is he re-watching that Ireland game? Is he asleep? Is he comfortable?   


It's all he can do to not _call_ Niall and beg him to come out.  


It sort of hits him like a freight train that he's _in love_ with Niall – that it's no longer just a crush. And it sort of takes his breath away.   


He's in the loo, taking a piss when his phone goes off. He ignores it until after he washes his hands and then digs around the back pocket of his trousers to pull the phone out and fumbles, messes up his passcode twice before he finally manages to break into his own phone. And there's a message, from Niall, in his inbox. His stomach turns and his heart starts beating impossibly fast and, fuck, he wants Niall. All he wants is Niall. And he would leave, right now – without even telling Nick, to get to Niall if Niall asked him to. He would do anything for Niall, _be_ anything for Niall-  


And that's when Nick finds him – mid-realization, phone in hand, staring down at Niall's text message. His heart is still racing and his stomach has those nervous, sickening butterflies and he's pretty sure he's going to need his inhaler if he doesn't get a hold of his breathing.   


Nick wrestles Harry's phone out of his hand, puts it back into his pocket and then pulls him out of the loo and back into his party. And then Nick's feeding him shot after shot and, well, Harry could use the distraction if he's honest.  
  
+  
  
Harry stumbles, crashes and blindly makes his way through the dark towards the bed in Nick's spare bedroom. He winces when his shins slam against the bed frame before he topples over it and lands flat on his stomach, face buried in the duvet. His head is throbbing, spinning even in the dark and he groans as he rolls onto his back, arms spread at his sides. There's no way he's not going to be hungover tomorrow.   


He crawls up the length of the queen size bed a moment later, places the water bottle he'd grabbed from the fridge on the bedside table and then practically folds himself in half to pull his phone out of his back pocket. There's a message from Pixie, saying she's homes safe and then there's another from Nick, who's in his own room, telling him to "shut up". He ignores both of those messages in favour of finding Niall's name, which isn't hard because the bright green shamrock next to the letters is a dead giveaway. He stares at the last message for a moment, the one he hadn't gotten the chance to answer, before he types out a response – one which doesn't even have anything to do with Niall's message.   


He sends the first one – _O muss u xx_ – and then debates, but only for a moment, before sending a second on: _Wish u wre there tonight xx_  


His heart starts racing again because what if Niall ignores him? Or worse – what if Niall answers him?   


And then, before he knows it, he's waiting for Ed to pick up the phone because Ed will know what to do; Ed always knows what to do.   
  
X  
  
Harry chickens out every time he's about to tell Niall. It's on his tongue - _I'm in love with you_ – and he can practically _taste_ it but he can never make himself say it.   


It's hard when there are so many people around – all the time, everywhere – and even harder when Niall is a literal ball of energy that has trouble standing still sometimes. Not to mention the fact that he always feels sick to his stomach at the mere thought of it and his mouth always feels like sand paper when he finally does get Niall alone and there just never seems to be "the right time."  


(Is there even a _right time_ to tell one of your best friends that you're _in love_ him?)   


He wrestles with it for what feels like forever. Tries to psych himself into it; tells himself to stop being a sissy; tries to convince himself that, regardless of the outcome, telling Niall is better than keeping everything inside. Like, if he tells Niall and Niall happens to feel the same way then he doesn't have anything to worry about. Likewise, if he tells Niall and Niall doesn't feel the same way then he can just move on, right? Because at least he'll know, right? At least, this is what he tells himself. And surely Niall won’t be _that_ weird about it, right?  


He's about to tell Niall after their last _Up All Night_ show in Fort Lauderdale. The moment is here, he's got Niall alone in a car on the way back to the hotel and it's perfect because it's quiet and Paul isn't even paying attention to either of them. They're both quiet, both buzzing from the adrenaline of doing their last show on their own, official tour. Niall's looking out the window, his leg bouncing up and down anxiously whilst his fingers tug absentmindedly at his bottom lip. Harry wants to kiss them, his lips, and tug at Niall's bottom one with his own teeth. He wants to feel them, decide whether they feel more like silk or satin and he wants to lick into Niall's mouth, taste him, breathe him in.   


And he could do it, just _say_ it – _I'm in love with you, Niall_ – and he's about to when Niall breaks the silence first.  


"'m seeing Amy."  


Harry blinks, looks sideways at the blond boy across the back seat from him – the boy who's still staring out the window. His chest tightens and his stomach flips over and suddenly it's like he's forgotten how to breathe. "What?"  


Niall looks at him, then, a small, shy sort of smile on his lips. "Amy," he replies. "I'm – we're kind of...seeing each other, I guess."  


"Y-you guess?" Harry whispers, mostly because he doesn't trust his voice to be strong enough, to hold its own against the lump in his throat.  


"I am," Niall nods firmly.  


"For how long?"  


"A couple weeks, I think," Niall shrugs. "We haven't seen each other, obviously, but we've been talking on the phone and Skyping and – I'm gonna see her when I go back and we're gonna just...see what happens."  


Harry blinks, again, and sticks his tongue out slightly to wet his lips. He feels sick all of a sudden – and warm, like the air in the van has gotten thicker. There’s a voice in the back of his head wondering _why_ and _what does Niall see in her_ and what about _him_? But he ignores it, nods instead and clears his throat. "Good," he says – and he hopes to God he sounds convincing enough. "That's good. Long distance relationships are hard though."  


"I know."  


The brunette tears his gaze away, looks out the window and reaches blindly for the button to push the window down. He cracks it, takes a deep breath of the fresh air that rushes into the backseat but, even then, he feels like he can't breathe. He feels like he can't think either, as his mind is going a mile a minute and his heart feels like it's breaking apart inside his chest. It hurts, impossibly-so and he doesn't even know how to describe it. He feels blindsided – and then he feels ridiculous for feeling blindsided because Niall doesn't owe him anything; they've never been anything more than friends.   


"I just – I wanted to tell you meself before you read it in the papers or something," Niall says softly, nudging his closed fist into Harry's bicep.  


Harry forces himself to look at Niall once more, down at where Niall's knuckles are pressed into Harry's arm and then back into Niall's face. Niall's perfect, beautiful, stupid face. "Why would that matter?"  


Niall shrugs, a smile – that brings even more butterflies to life in Harry's stomach – tugging at his lips. "You're my best friend. 'm not about to let the tabloids beat you to the truth."  


Harry arches an eyebrow, thinks about the others' reactions, distracts himself from the pitiful feeling settling inside his chest. "Do the others know?"  


"Not yet."  


Harry nods and looks away, decides he has a love/hate relationship with being the first to know. It's better than being the last to know, he supposes, given the circumstance of his being totally in love with the lad. He asks Paul how far away they are from the hotel now because the quicker they get there, the quicker he can disappear into a room and the quicker he can let himself fall apart a bit, allow himself a moment of feeling sorry for himself, before he picks himself up and dusts himself because Niall's his _best friend_ , dammit, and it isn't _his_ fault.   


"You want t' bunk wit' me?" Niall asks, after Paul tells them their only a couple minutes away. "We can watch a movie."  


And that throws a kink into Harry's plans but he agrees anyway because, well, it's _Niall_.  


(Harry thinks, a moment later, that that was probably the most awkward conversation they've ever had. And he wonders if Niall noticed too.)  
  
X  
  
Harry starts seeing Taylor around the same time Niall breaks up with Amy. And it isn't even on purpose, either. It's just how it happens.   


(Niall says he broke up with her because it just wasn't working; says he's fine. Harry's not quite sure he believes it but he keeps his mouth shut and doesn't press.)  


It seems almost inevitable when he meets Taylor backstage at the Kids Choice Award – and he's immediately enamoured with her. They wind up exchanging numbers and then they spend the next few weeks texting each other almost non-stop; sometimes they call each other when they both have more than 10 minutes to spare at the same time. They text less – and call each other even less than that – when she starts seeing Connor Kennedy in the summer but it's still there; the fascination, the interest, the enamour.  


When Taylor breaks up with Connor, a couple short months after they start dating, it's like everything goes back to the way it was.   


They start dating, officially, in October. They don't confirm or deny the rumours that had been going around about them in the weeks leading up to the day they "go public" but the general assumption, after, is that most (if not all) the rumours are true. But they don't confirm or deny that either because, quite frankly, it's nobody's business but their own.   


Harry genuinely likes Taylor. He likes spending time with her, likes seeing her laugh, seeing her smile – likes _making_ her smile. (Almost in the same way he likes making Niall smile.) And then there's the fact that she makes _him_ smile. And laugh. And happy; he can’t deny that he’s happy.  


She's incredibly kind and polite, down to earth and easy-going. Not to mention the fact that she does the same thing he does. She gets it – the crazy sort of life he leads. She knows what he's going through, where his head is; she's been there. She's _currently_ there.   


The lads also like her. Louis hounds him about it constantly. Liam and Zayn poke fun at them being the next _power couple_. It’s only Niall who’s a bit more quiet about it; congratulates him softly and then doesn't talk about it after that unless he has to.  


He thinks it could work, him and Taylor. At least, he _likes to think_ it could work. And Taylor seems to think it _will_ work.  


(If only he could just stop thinking about _Niall_.)  
  
X  
  
Niall's been in a mood for weeks by the time the Jingle Ball rolls around and, somehow, that only makes it worse.  


He's been avoiding Harry all day – and _only_ Harry. He's fine when it comes to Louis or Zayn or Liam but the minute Harry comes into the picture he either ignores Harry completely or he walks away. It's been like this for weeks, if he’s honest – looking the other way, pretending he doesn't hear Harry calling his name, declining his calls, reading and then ignoring his text messages. And for the life of him he can't figure out _why_ – which is probably the most frustrating thing about it.  


The thing is: Harry and Niall almost never have rows. They argue every now and then but it's always over the dumbest things – and how could they not, when they've been living in each other's pockets for the last two years? They've had disagreements in the past, as far as decisions within the band go, but those are things that don't even count because they never last long enough anyway. And yet here Niall is, cross with Harry about something and Harry's not even sure what he could've done.   


It's when Niall scoffs at him, for no apparent reason, and turns to walk away from everyone that Harry decides he's had enough. He excuses himself before following Niall; they have to be on stage in a few minutes – at least that's what Liam yells after him in that paranoid Daddy Direction voice of his – and while the performance has been on his mind all day, in part because he doesn't want the tension between himself and Niall to show throughout it, it's also the last thing on his mind.   


He grabs Niall's wrist, ignores the blond's protests and pulls him into one of the dressing rooms backstage. "Why are you avoiding me?" he demands once he's closed the door and turned to face the blond boy.  


Niall blinks and the scoffs. "What? I'm not-"  


"You _are_ ," Harry insists. "Why are you avoiding me, Niall?"  


Niall sighs, rolls his eyes. "Just, will you-" he starts, cutting himself off when he tries to just slip past Harry only to be pushed back. "We have to be on stage in a few minutes, will you just let me leave?"  


Harry frowns. "What's the matter with you?"  


"Nothing. I'm fine-"  


"Is it Amy?"  


Niall scoffs again, shakes his head as he looks away. "It's definitely not Amy."  


"Then what is it, Niall?" Harry presses almost desperately. He takes a step forward, stares at the side of Niall's face despite the fact that the blond won't even look at him. "Why are you mad at me? What have I done?"  


"It's not-"  


"Don't lie to me. We don't lie to each other, remember?"  


Niall finally looks at him, stares at him and licks his lips. He opens his mouth like he's going to speak but nothing comes out.   


Harry's phone bursts into song, then. Niall scoffs again, disbelievingly, and rolls his eyes as Harry reaches into his pocket. The phone immediately stops ringing when Harry puts it on silent.  


Niall raises an eyebrow as he crossed his arms over his chest. "What, you're not gonna get it?"  


"It's just Taylor-"  


"I know," Niall snaps; he probably recognized the ringtone as the one that always rings when Taylor calls him. "You can't even be without her for five fucking minutes to have an argument with me, can you? Not without _her_."  


Harry blinks, taken aback. Confused. "Niall, what are you even-"  


"Just forget it, Harry."  


Niall leaves, then, slips past Harry whilst the brunette is too busy being confused and hurt because Niall _really is_ cross with him – and he still doesn’t know why. Harry follows soon after, doesn't even notice the redhead standing in the middle of the hallway just outside the dressing room because he's too busy searching for a blond head, which he watches disappear around the corner they'd come around to get her a moment later. He gets caught up with Ed, then, and they talk quietly about Niall until Paul calls for him.   


Then, maybe Harry spends his whole solo in Little Things staring at Niall, trying to get his attention so they can sing to each other the way they always do. Maybe he completely forgets about Taylor standing behind him at the side of the stage. And maybe he wishes Niall knew the real reason he likes to sing to him.  
  
X  
  
Harry reaches a shaky hand out to her and she moves away from him. He freezes, pulls his hand back and watches with bated breath as Taylor shakes her head. Her eyes are glistening with tears, flickering everywhere except in Harry's direction.  


He feels guilty, like it's all his fault – as he should, as it _is_. He's the one who started it, after all. And now he's the one that's finished it too.   


"I-I'm sorry," Harry whispers, running one hand through his hair as he hands his head between slouched shoulder blades.  


A shaky, disbelieving breath slips through her red-painted lips. "Who is it?" she asks a moment later.   


He blinks, taken aback, and lifts his head to look at her. She's staring back at him now, expectantly – and it's a testament to how much she knows him because he hasn't even told her it was about someone else. He licks his lips, swallows the lump in his throat. "It's not important-"  


"It _is_ important," she says in a broken voice. And, yeah, he supposes it is -- at least a bit.  


"I..." he trails off, looks down at his converse shoes. He wants to tell her, wants to be honest with her in a way he's never been before. He knows she deserves it. But he also knows he can't. "I can't tell you. I can't tell anyone," he murmurs, leaving out the part about Ed knowing because well, to be fair, he didn't even have to _tell_ Ed.   


She looks away from him again, nods like she sort of accepts it and runs a hand through long blond hair. "It was real, right? We were _real_ – even if-"  


"Yeah – yes," Harry rushes out. He pushes himself forward so he's sitting on the edge of the seat and this time when he reaches out for her, his fingers gripping gently at her knees, she doesn't pull away. "It was real. Of course it was."  


She nods, to herself more than to him, and looks down at her hands in her lap.  


Silence falls between them as he pulls his hands back and clasps them between his own knees. He looks down, stares at the floor of the villa they've rented out for the holiday they're _supposed_ to be on and tries to keep his breathing even. He hates this. And he hates this _part_ ; hates the awkwardness, hates that gut-wrenching feeling, hates knowing what he's done to this sweet, beautiful girl across from him.   


"What happens now?"  


He lets out a breath he didn't even know he'd been holding as he pushes himself up and leans back against the back of the chair he's sitting on. "I can leave," he mutters. "I'll just-"  


" _I_ should leave," Taylor says, shaking her head. "You paid for most of this, so I'll just-"  


"Taylor-"  


"I don't really want to be here anymore anyway."  


Harry looks at her, catches her sad gaze and stares for a long moment before he nods and pushes himself to his feet. "Ok," he murmurs, reaching for his phone, which he'd left forgotten on the table beside him. "I'll make some calls."  
  
X  
  
He doesn't tell the lads right away. There are stories, of course, of a break-up but the lads have always known better than to believe everything they read or hear – even if half of the rumours about his break-up with Taylor are true. It's not that he doesn't _want_ to tell them it's just that he doesn't want to talk about it at all. Like, in general. The thing is, they'll want to know how it happened, when it happened, why it happened and Harry (obviously) can't tell them _why_.  


He goes weeks without telling them and they don't ask. That is, until their first rehearsal for the _Take Me Home_ tour.   


Coming back after a break – not that they've had very many of those in the last couple of years – is a lot like seeing your friends on the first day of school after the summer holidays. They're incredibly unorganized and they spend more time talking and gossiping than they do actually rehearsing and, as per usual, it's a bit of free-for-all -- which drives their crew a bit mad but that's nothing out of the ordinary. Truth be told, though, Harry does more listening than actual talking; lets Louis, Liam and Zayn's take care of the girlfriend talk and pretends he doesn't notice that Niall is still, very pointedly, avoiding him.  


They're taking a "break", lounging about in the studio, when Louis turns to Harry and slaps his knee. "So, Harold – you and Taylor," he says, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively.  


Harry shrugs. "What?"  


"You gonna fly her out?"  


He licks his lips, picks absentmindedly at a loose thread in the hole in the left knee of his jeans. "We're not...we broke up."  


The fact that Niall's head snaps up from where he'd been staring at the ground doesn't go unnoticed and a breath catches in Harry's throat.  


"You – really? When?" Liam asks, genuinely shocked  


"And why didn't you tell us sooner?!" Louis demands.  


"It's not, like – it wasn't a big deal," Harry shrugs again. "It just wasn't working, you know?"  


"So the rumours are true, then," Zayn mutters softly, reaching out to squeeze his shoulder.   


Harry's gaze lands on Niall for a moment, whose face is a blank slate. And then he looks down at the ground. "Not everything. We didn't, like, have a massive fight or anything. It wasn't that bad. She understood, I think."  


"Why didn't you tell us?" Louis asks again, softer this time.   


"He probably didn't want to talk about it," Niall speaks up on his behalf – and if Harry responds with wide, surprised eyes then nobody says anything.  


"You could've though," Louis whispers. "You know that, right?"  


Harry nods because he doesn't trust himself to speak.  
  
+  
  
"Hey."  


Harry looks up at the sound of a thick, Irish accent and stares at Niall for a second, makes a show of looking over his own shoulder and then looks back at Niall. They're alone, the other lads having left a short while ago already and they both know it. He raises a perfectly-arched eyebrow. "You're talking to me now?"  


Niall smiles weakly, looks down at the ground as he kicks the toe of his supra into the carpet. "'m sorry. I just – I was going through something and...I took it out on you."  


Harry frowns. "What were you going through? Are you ok?"  


"I'm fine. I can't tell you-"  


"So you're _not_ talking to me, not really," Harry scoffs, turning away to grab his bag and swing it over his shoulder. He moves to leave, to step away from Niall but then a hand closes around his wrist and Harry swears a shiver runs down his spine.   


"Haz, just – I just can't tell you right now," Niall murmurs. He stares at Harry almost desperately, like he just wants Harry to understand.   


"Fine," Harry mutters." Alright."  


"Can you come over after?"  


Harry blinks and he squints his eyes in confusion. "I, uh-"  


"You don't have to," the blond says quickly, his cheeks turning a lovely shade of pink because he's nervous.   


"No, I want to," Harry insists, smiling softly. And for the first time in months it feels _normal_ talking to Niall. "I will – I want to."  
  
X  
  
Despite (finally) being on speaking terms again, Harry's actually quite surprised when he sees Niall, accompanied by his own security, Basil, making his way through the throng of people inside the nightclub. It's Harry’s 19th birthday party and the place is packed with a large variety of his celebrity friends as well as old, school and childhood friends he'd had driven in from Cheshire for the occasion. It's crazy and it's loud and Harry's been drunk for _hours_ , he's pretty sure – since Grimmy handed him his first cocktail back at Grimmy's flat at five o'clock. And it's nice – _more than_ , since he's drunk and honest – seeing everyone, all these people he hasn't seen in ages because of one reason or another and having them all here for _him_.  


But it's _Niall_ who steals the spotlight for him. Niall, who (still) makes his heart beat faster and brings the butterflies to life in his stomach and makes his blood feel like fire in his veins. Niall, who doesn't even have to try to look good in one of his old pairs of jeans and a grey and black jumper. Niall, who greets everyone with a smile and sometimes a laugh – and, fuck, Niall couldn't be more perfect, Harry thinks.  


Niall reaches him, pulls him into a tight, warm hug and Harry sort of sinks into Niall's arms. He buries his nose in the crook of Niall's neck, breathes him in and clutches the back of Niall's jumper in his fingers.   


"Hi," Harry slurs when Niall pulls back, ignoring the urge to pull him back in.   


"Hi there, birthday boy," Niall yells back over the sound of the music blaring around the room. He tugs playfully at one of Harry's wayward curls and grins as he looks around. "How's it been?"  


"Bett'r now you're 'ere," Harry says cheekily.   


Niall rolls his eyes in response, licks his lips – and Harry wants to kiss him. Totally _could_ kiss him.   


But then there's an arm around his shoulders and a loud, obnoxious yell of "POP STAR" in his ear. It's Grimmy and he's drunk too, hanging off Harry's shoulder and pushing the side of his face against Harry's. He seems to notice Niall a moment later because he detaches himself from Harry's person to thrust a hand forward to shake Niall's. "And another pop star – ‘ello, Niall!"  


Harry stops paying attention, then, in favour of just watching Niall interact with Grimmy like they're the best of friends even though they aren't. It's something he's always liked about Niall, the blond's ability to get along with _anyone_ whether he knows them well enough or not.  


"Do you mind if I steal the birthday boy away for a bit?" Grimmy's asking when he tunes back in, just as the radio host's arm settles back around Harry's shoulders. "Got a bit of a surprise for 'im, we do."  


Niall grins. "Not at all."  


"But – wait," Harry protests. "Niall can come, can't he?"  


"'m gonna pop by the bar, grab meself a drink," Niall tells him, throwing a thumb over his shoulder in the general direction of the long bar against one wall. "Gotta at least _try_ to catch up with ya, Haz. I'll join you lot in a bit."  


Harry swears his heart skips a bit at the familiarity of a nickname he hasn't heard in months.   
And then Niall's turned to make his way through more bodies to get to the bar and Nick's dragging him in the other direction and Harry doesn't even have time to _think_ let alone act.   
  
+  
  
The last thing Harry expects is to have a stripper handed to him. (Although, he supposes, it's exactly the sort of thing he should've expected from Grimmy – and for his birthday.)   


She's pretty and she's fit and she's slutty, in a black, lacy bra and matching knickers, in exactly the way she's supposed to be. She's also drunk and fun and everyone absolutely _loves_ her.  


All eyes are on her – and him, which is embarrassing – as she starts giving him a lap dance. He finds himself giggling, hunched over and pinching the bridge of his nose as he feels the colour spreading across his cheeks. It really is quite embarrassing, knowing that there's a room full of people _watching_ him get a lap dance.   


It's not that she isn't sexy and it isn't that she doesn't know how to move or what she's doing because she is and she does – it's just that the longer it goes on the harder it is for him to concentrate on the one thing everyone else can't look away from. He leans back in his chair, leans head back against the wall and let's his gaze roam away from her perky arse and over her shoulder. And that's where he finds a familiar head of blond hair, rosy cheeks and bright blue eyes staring back him – not at the stripper dancing in his lap like every other pair of eyes in the club, but at _him_.  


Harry's breath catches in his throat, his heart skips several beats and his stomach churns. He sits up slightly, straightens out his back and tilts his head with a small, shy smile.  


Niall smirks back, then, as he cocks his head to the side. He lifts a tall glass in one hand, a 'cheers' of his pint, and winks.   


And, oh, Jesus – that goes straight to Harry's dick.  


(He's horny and it has less to do with the stripper and more (everything, really) to do with the boy across the room.)  
  
X  
  
It's going on four o'clock in the morning when Niall pulls him inside.  


Niall's flat is quiet – so much quieter than the club. And warm. And comfortable. And Harry's glad Niall asked if he could arrange to be dropped off here rather than back at Ben's house.  
Niall had left a little while before Harry had – and a little while after the stripper got dressed and took off with someone else. He'd found Harry near the bar, with Grimmy, and as part of his goodbye he'd whispered in Harry's ear to get someone to drop him off after. And, needless to say, Harry hadn't even questioned it because it's _Niall_.  


And now here he is, two bottles of water and a slice of bread later, standing with his back against the island in the middle of Niall's kitchen. Niall's standing across from him, nursing his own water bottle. His hair has been pushed and mused every which way from his own hands, his cheeks are tainted pink from the alcohol still left in his system – despite both of them feeling considerably less drunk than before – and his eyes are still doing that squinty thing they do when he's been drinking. And Harry thinks Niall looks stunning, sexy – especially with the sleeves of his jumper pushed up to his elbows and his jeans hung low on his hips.   


Harry reckons he probably looks about the same only worse because his hair is always _messy_ messy - not _good_ messy – after he's had a few and he tends to sweat a bit when he's drinking so his hair is a bit damp at the roots too and he doesn't think he looks even half as good with red cheeks as Niall does.   


It's been a while since they've done this, just spent time together let alone have a few drinks together. There was that time, a couple weeks back, after rehearsals when Niall had invited him over but they haven't managed to be alone together since then.   


"'m really glad you showed up tonight, Niall," Harry murmurs, kicking a foot out gently to nudge at the blond boy's shin.   


Niall grins, cocks his head to the side. "Yeah?"  


"'course. You're my favourite."  


"Favourite what?"  


"Person; you're my favourite person," Harry says and, for a moment, he thinks he might've sounded a little bit too serious – even though he is – because Niall just stares at him with a sort of faraway look in his eyes. "Just don't tell the lads I said that," he adds playfully.  


Niall laughs softly. "Your secret's safe with me, Haz."  


Harry smiles as he brings his bottle to his lips to take a sip.   


Niall's expression changes, then. His own smile fades into a straight line and his eyes soften; instead of just looking happy he looks thoughtful. He licks his lips, turns to set his own water bottle on the counter behind him and then looks back at Harry. "'m glad you broke up with Taylor."  


Harry blinks and his heart jumps into his throat; it beats loudly in his ears. "Y-you are?"  


Niall nods.  


Harry holds his breath, stares at Niall silently. He wants to ask why, wants to know if it has anything to do with why Niall was so mad at him the whole time – and he thinks Niall's about to tell him something he really doesn't want to hear. He thinks about Ed and how Ed was so sure that Niall wasn't mad at him because he liked Taylor too but it's literally the only thing he can think of. It's the only reason that makes sense; it's the only thing they haven't talked about. He feels sick, like he's going to throw up and he wishes he could blame it on the alcohol – but he feels so, incredibly sober right now.   


And then, before Harry even has a second to register that Niall's gotten closer, his lips crash against Harry's and a hand finds its way around the back of Harry's head. And Harry's too stunned to react at first – both surprised and taken aback; it's the last thing he had ever expected, is the thing.   


Niall nips at Harry's bottom lip, makes a sound in his throat like he wants Harry to react and rubs his fingers gently against the nape of Harry's neck. And Harry kisses back, surges forward to deepen the kiss and licks into Niall's mouth as his arms circle around the blond's slim waist. Niall's lips are like satin and he tastes like watered-down beer and peppermint and the sound he moans into Harry's mouth sends a shiver down Harry's spine, however cliché that sounds.   


Niall's the one who pulls away, pants and giggles as Harry chases his lips and stumbles backwards when Harry leans forward until Niall is the one pressed up against the edge of the counter. Harry presses their foreheads together, nudges his nose gently against Niall's as they both struggle to catch their breaths. Niall continues to stare at him for a long time, runs a hand through Harry's hair and then intertwines both hands behind Harry's head – and Harry isn't sure if he just wants to spend an eternity swimming in the depths of Niall's eyes or if he wants to snog Niall’s face off for the rest of his life.   


He chooses the latter – in that he tilts his chin just-so to capture Niall's lips in his own.   


"Bedroom," Niall breathes into Harry's mouth between kisses.   


It happens all-too quickly – but, at the same time, not quickly enough. They stumble, hurriedly through the house, trip up the stairs and then into Niall's bedroom. Niall peels Harry out of his shirt whilst Harry fumbles with the belt around his waist. Harry pushes his jeans, along with his boxers, down his legs. They get caught around his knees and then again around his feet – and then Niall's hands are on his shoulders and he's falling backwards on to the bed. Niall crawls over him, boxers still hung low around his hips and settles between Harry's thighs.  


Harry looks up at Niall – at his blown-out blue eyes, flushed cheeks and bruised lips and, fuck, he wants Niall; he wants _all_ of Niall.  


Both of Niall's hands are planted into the mattress on either side of Harry's head, holding himself up. He dips his head, then, brushes his nose against Harry's, presses their foreheads together.  


"You ever done this before – with a bloke?" Harry finds himself asking.  


"Once," Niall murmurs. "With Sean – before X Factor... You?" he asks, then, like he has to.  


"A few times – before and after."  


Niall kisses Harry, closes the gap between their bodies and grinds down on him – and Harry chokes on a moan, feels just how hard Niall is against his own hard length and Jesus fuck. Harry isn't going to last very long at all.   


"How do you want it?" Niall asks softly when he pulls back.  


"How do _you_ want it?" Harry counters, pants as his chest rises and falls quickly.  


Niall smirks down at him, pecks at his lips. "It's _your_ birthday, innit?"  


Harry hums in response – and then curls his legs around the backs of Niall's thighs, tightens them to bring him closer. Niall seems to get it, then, because he grinds down hard and swallows Harry's moan.  


And then Niall's hands and lips are everywhere, all over and that's exactly how Harry wants him. Harry drags his hands down the length of Niall's back, pushes the blond's briefs down over his bum and then tugs at the elastic band, fumbles with them as he tries to pull them all the way down Niall's thighs. "Off," he breathes as Niall presses his lips against Harry's collarbone. " _Off_ , Ni – get 'em off."  


Niall pulls back, pushes his briefs the rest of the way down and kicks them off the edge of the bed. His cock bounces, rubs against Harry's as he settles back between Harry's thighs. Harry stares, watches as Niall leans over and opens the top drawer of his bedside table. Niall pulls out a condom and a little bottle of lube. He pops the cap open and Harry's breath gets caught in his throat-  


And then there's a finger, wet and calloused, pressed between Harry's cheeks and against his rim. He chokes on a moan, thrusts his hands into Niall's hair and drags him down, presses their lips together firmly as Niall uses his other hand to push one of Harry's legs up; it gives Niall more access, creates a new angle.  


Niall stretches him open slowly with his fingers – one and then two and then by the third, Harry's thighs are quivering and his breathing is harsh and he's so _desperate_ for it. Harry gasps, groans at the sudden loss when Niall removes his fingers. Niall kisses him, takes both of Harry's legs and hooks them over his shoulders and presses Harry's hips against the mattress.  


Harry gasps again, mouth left wide open in a silent moan when he feels the tip of Niall's dick at his hole. He breathes into Niall's mouth, shifts his hips up to give Niall more access – and then Niall's pushing in and it stretches, hurts a bit but it feels so fucking good and delicious and Harry's delirious. He tosses his head back against Niall's pillow, grabs desperately at the back of Niall's neck with one hand and curls a fist around his own hard, wet length.   


Niall bottoms out, buried to the hilt and drops his forehead into the crook of Harry's neck. His breath is hot against Harry's skin, sounds harsh in Harry's ear. He stills, let's Harry adjust – lets himself adjust as well, probably.  


Harry starts to beg, pleads for Niall to _move_ , cards a hand through Niall's hair as the blond pulls back, presses their foreheads together. And then Niall starts to move.  


It's fast and it's hard and it's desperate. It's a mess of snapping hips and skin slapping against skin, of breathless moans and guttural groans and open-mouthed kisses that are not quite kisses. Niall doesn't talk, he groans loudly, growls deeply but Harry can't seem to stop the steady stream of _harderfasterpleasedon'tstopneverstop_ from slipping past bruised lips.   


It doesn't last long. A sob wretches itself from Harry's throat when he comes in spurts across his own chest, one hand pumping tight around his cock whilst the other cups Niall's arse, pulls him in closer. His lips are pressed, slightly open, against Niall's -- and Niall grunts, breathes harshly into Harry's mouth as he continues to fuck Harry, deep and hard, through his orgasm. Harry gasps when he comes down because he's sensitive, inside and out, but it still feels so good. He knows that Niall is close, can tell by the frantic snap of his hips and the muffled, desperate slur of _fuckHarry,Jesus_. Niall gasps, chokes on a moan as he comes, hips stuttering until they stop and Harry clings to him, both arms wound around Niall's neck to hold him close.  


Niall collapses on top of Harry, then, and buries his face into the crook of Harry's neck, breathing heavily. Harry closes his eyes, heart still racing as he cards one hand through Niall's hair and runs the other up and down Niall's sweat-slicked back.  


The last thing that registers, before sleep claims Harry's consciousness, is Niall crawling back into bed after a brief clean-up and curling himself around Harry's torso, skin sweat-dampened and still very much naked.  
  
+  
  
The next time Harry opens his eyes it's to find that he's alone. He's lying in the middle of Niall's bed, sheets draped across his body and his mouth feels dry and rough like sand paper. Niall's side of the bed, where he'd fallen asleep, is cool to the touch like he's been gone for a while and when Harry lifts his head to find the clock on Niall's bedside table it's to find red lights glaring back at him in the form of 11:37.  


He pushes himself up, leans back against the palms he's planted in the mattress behind him and looks around instinctively. Niall's cleaned up a bit, picked up his own clothes and draped Harry's over the opposite corner of the bed. Harry's stomach drops. His heart jumps into his throat. He feels like he's going to throw up.  


His mind starts racing. _Where's Niall? Why did Niall leave? Has he just done the one thing he hadn't wanted to do? Has he just ruined everything?_  


He springs out of the bed, then, ignores the way the room spins as he grabs his briefs out of the pile of his clothes. He stumbles into them, pulls them up over his hips and then he grabs for his jeans and pulls them on too. He's got his right arm through one sleeve of his blue and white heart-dotted button down shirt and he's working on getting his left through the other sleeve when the bedroom door opens. He startles, freezes when he looks up to see Niall standing in the doorway in his briefs, mused hair and bruised lips, a steaming mug in each hand.  


Niall's eyes scrunch up in confusion as he looks Harry up and down, hovers in the doorway. "Going somewhere?"  


Harry blinks. He's finally got his arm through the sleeve but he leaves the buttons undone. "I...I thought you left."  


The blond raises his eyebrow as he walks into the room and places both mugs on his dresser. "Me? Leave? This is _my_ house, Harry, where would I go?"  


"I-I don't..." Harry trails off; he hadn't thought that far ahead. He hadn't thought about that at all, actually.   


Niall cocks his head curiously as he crossed his arms and leans back against his dresser, just in front of both mugs. "I thought you might need some tea after the night you had."  


And, oh. Niall left so he could take care of him. Now Harry just feels awkward, like an idiot.   


"Why d'you think I would leave, Haz?"  


Harry shrugs, feels the blood rush to his cheeks. "Thought maybe you regretted it."  


Niall snorts – and it sounds a bit disbelieving, the way he sounds when he thinks Harry's being an idiot. "And here _I_ thought I'd been more clear than that."  


Harry's heart stutters in his chest.  


Niall pushes himself away from the dresser and closes the gap between them, stands so he's directly in front of Harry – almost forehead-to-forehead. "I like you, yeah?"  


And, ok, Harry's knees just about buckle. He stares at Niall, gaze searching for any kind of deception in the pools in Niall's eyes. Instead he finds something a bit like adoration and affection – and something like the lust that had been there the night before.  


"I _like_ you, Haz. Have for a little while, now-"  


"You can't lie to me about this, Niall," Harry finds himself saying before he even _thinks_ it. "You can't take the piss out of me-" He cuts himself off, rendered speechless by the way Niall reaches out to tug at one of Harry's wild curls before both hands curl, fingers interlocked at the base on Harry's neck.  


Niall pressed their foreheads together, then, and pecks a kiss to Harry's lips before he pulls back. He giggles when Harry leans forward to chase them, eyes closed. "'m not. I _wouldn't_ , Harry."  


Harry's heart flips, beats so loudly in his chest he's positive that Niall can hear it. He surges forward, kisses Niall hard, licks Niall's lips open – and then Niall's hands are wrapped around the open ends of his shirt and he's pulling Harry towards the bed. Harry stumbles because he's clumsy and his legs feel a bit like jelly and then they're falling onto the bed, panting and giggling.  


"Reckon we could switch it up this time?" Niall asks, gazing up at Harry as the brunette pulls back to shrug his shoulders out of his shirt.   


Harry blinks – and then breathes a "yes" into Niall's lips as he makes quick work of the button on his jeans.  


And if the mugs are left forgotten on the top of the dresser for the rest of the afternoon, then nobody else has to know.  
  
X  
  
They decide not to tell anyone, not their friends, not their family – not even the lads. They want to keep it to themselves, away from prying eyes and out of the tabloids. It's not that they don't trust those people – in fact, they happen to trust most of those people with their lives. It's just that, well, the less people who know about them, the less people there are to accidentally slip up or reveal something they don't mean to; the easier it will be to keep it all under wraps. And Harry's ok with that. At least, he thinks he is.  


He tells himself he is.   


Niall's always been secretive about his relationships, is the thing. He's private and he likes to keep his private things private, especially his personal life and, well, Harry wants to respect that. He needs to.   


The thing about being in the same band – and about everyone knowing they're friends, they find out rather quickly once the tour starts, is that they can get away with it. They can mess around on stage and hang out off stage and most people don't even bat an eyelash because they're lads and they've always been friends – and it's easy. But then so is being with Niall.  
  
X  
  
Harry rushes out of the en suite bathroom and back into the hotel bedroom, scrambles across the bed to pick up the phone he'd tossed at the top near the pillows. It's Niall's ringtone, is the thing, and he's been in Mullingar for the last couple of days for Greg's wedding and he's been so busy helping with the preparations that Harry hasn't even heard Niall's voice in as many days. Harry's been doing his best to distract himself by accompanying Cal to Malibu for One Direction's weekend off, has been steering (mostly) clear of Twitter and it's working. (Mostly.)  


He nearly drops his phone whilst trying to answer it, swipes his thumb across the screen and then fumbles it before pressing it to his ear. "Hi – hey, sorry," he rushes out, pushing himself so he's sitting up with his right leg folded in front of him and his left hanging over the edge of the mattress. "I almost dropped the phone. Hi."  


"Hi," Niall slurs, his voice thick and so incredibly _Irish_. And then he giggles, for no reason. It brings the butterflies to life in Harry's stomach.  


Harry smirks fondly. "How drunk are you, on a scale of one to 10?" It's about six o'clock here – he's meant to be getting cleaned up to go out for dinner with Cal in half an hour -- which means it's about two o'clock in the morning in Ireland.   


" _Irish_ ," Niall says, seriously. And then he giggles again.  


Harry laughs and then pauses because he wishes Niall were _here_ instead of miles away – or that he were _there_ ; wishes he could hear Niall's laugh in his ear _in person_ instead of over the phone. "How was it?" he asks. The last thing Niall had texted him was that a bunch of fans had shown up outside the church, that he felt bad for Greg and especially for Denise. Harry had answered him, assured him that Greg and Denise wouldn't blame him and it isn't his fault.  


"Good, really good – like, perfect, Haz," Niall breathes on the other end. "You would've loved it."  


"Yeah?"  


"Wish you could've been ‘ere."  


Harry takes a deep breath, ignores the disappointment bubbling in his chest. "Yeah, me too," he murmurs. He would've loved to go but seeing as none of the other lads could make it he and Niall had decided it would best if Harry didn't RSVP either. Just in case.   


Niall falls silent, breathes softly into the mouthpiece of his phone like he's thinking about the same thing.  


"Where are you?" Harry asks – because he'd rather hear Niall's voice while he's got the boy on the phone with him. "Where's everyone else?" he asks as an afterthought because it's awfully quiet on Niall's end.   


"Inside. I mean, 'm _outside_ – t'ey're inside."  


"You're missing out on the rest of the party."  


"'m missing something else too," Niall murmurs.  


Harry's heart clenches, jumps into his throat. "I-I miss you too."  


"What're you doin'?" Niall asks – probably just to keep the conversation going more than anything. "What've you been up to ov'r there in Mali-buu?"  


Harry snorts, rolls his eyes affectionately.  


"Seriously, Haz, whatcha been doin'?"  


"Just hanging out," Harry replies with a shrug despite the fact that Niall can't see him. "Spending time in the water, watching Cal take pictures-"  


A loud, boisterous, Irish " _NIALL_ " sounds from somewhere on Niall's end of the phone and Harry raises a curious eyebrow. Niall snorts. "Deo's lookin' for me, me t'inks," the blond slurs.  


Harry smiles (a bit sadly) to himself as he picks at a frayed hole in the right knee of his jeans. "You'd better go then, before they send out a search party," he teases.  


Niall laughs. "Yeah, I guess. Text m' tomorrow, yeah?"  


"I will," Harry murmurs. "Behave, will you."  


"We'll see," the blond snickers playfully.  


" _NIALLER_ ", another voice rings out.   


Niall groans. "Shit – I hafta go."  


"I'll see you soon," Harry promises softly. He waits for the dial tone to signal that Niall has, indeed, hung up before he lets his hand fall to his side – and then let's the rest of him fall back on the bed.   
  
X  
  
" _'And all Niall's little things'_ ," Niall scoffs as they stumble loudly into the dressing room backstage. "You're such an idiot."  


They've just come from the stage having finished the show. Liam, Louis and Zayn have all gone to use the loo and the rest of their crew typically always gives them a few minutes to wind down and relax after each show, to let the adrenaline filter through them. The five of them usually do it together, joke around and talk about the dumb things they did on stage so it's only a matter of time before the other three come barreling in after them.   


Harry shrugs, smirks as he closes the door behind them. "The moment was there. I took it."  


Niall laughs, falls back heavily onto the leather couch set back against the wall. He slouches into it so the back of his neck is resting against the top of the cushion and he gazes across the room at Harry. "You should sing it like that more often."  


"You reckon?" Harry wonders, raising his eyebrows suggestively. He swipes two water bottles off a table on the other side of the room and then makes his way towards Niall. "Maybe I will-"  


"No – no, I was joking!" Niall grabs something off the couch, a shirt probably, and tosses it at the tall, curly haired boy. "Don't do that."  


"Why not? They loved it," Harry smirks proudly. He hands Niall a water bottle and then flops onto the sofa next to him.  


"Exactly," Niall laughs. "If you keep doing that they'll wonder. The _lads_ will wonder."  


Harry wants to ask if that's such a bad thing. But his mouth is full of water and he's sure he already knows the answer to that.  


"I liked it though."  


Harry smiles, shifts his whole body so he's lying spread out across the rest of the couch with his head in Niall's lap. Niall's left hand falls sort of instinctively into his hair. "I know. These," he murmurs, reaching up to draw a gentle, invisible stripe over the tops of both of Niall's cheeks, "gave you away."  


Niall blushes, which only proves Harry's point and he shakes his head. "Shut up," he murmurs affectionately.  


Harry smiles, stares up at Niall – watches the way his eyelashes flutter every time he blinks, thinks he'd like nothing more than to kiss him when his tongue slips out to wet his lips. And he would -- kiss him, that is -- if he didn't know that the lads could come flying in at any moment.   


"I wouldn't mind if you sang it to _me_ every now and then, though," Niall admits softly, twirling one of Harry's curls around his fingers.   


"Well now you're just being a diva," Harry teases.  


Niall laughs.  


"I will, though – if that's what you want."  


The blond tilts his head to side and his hand stops moving about in Harry’s hair, much to Harry's grunty-protest. He blinks, licks at his lips once more. "I just want _you_ , Haz," he whispers.  


And Harry's about two seconds away from sitting up to kiss him anyway when the door flies open and Louis starts screaming for them to stop their two-person cuddle fest and get ready to go.  
  
X  
  
Dating, whilst on tour, is rather difficult – but dating a fellow band member, whilst keeping it a secret while on tour is about 20 times worse as far as difficulty goes.   


(Not that they're dating – because they aren't _technically_ dating. They're more like a strange version of friends with benefits because they both have feelings for each other that go beyond just _benefits_ but it's not something they talk about – mostly because it isn't something _Niall_ wants to address. Yet. And Harry's ok with that. He is. He just has to wait for Niall to be ready to take the next step, that's all.)  


The thing is, sneaking around when there are literally people around them _all the time_ is a bit exhausting. If it's not Liam, Louis or Zayn demanding attention it’s the lads from 5 Seconds of Summer; if it's not 5 SOS it's the boys from their musical bad; if it's not them it's Lou or Lux or Gemma (which, admittedly, Harry doesn't mind half as much because he's a bit obsessed with Lux and, well, Gemma's not bad either) – and if it's not _any_ of them then it's almost always someone else from the crew or security. Not to mention they're incredibly busy almost all the time so even on days when they don't have a show they're almost always scheduled to be doing something else and, well, then it sometimes becomes impossible.   
Who knew that trying to have alone time with a boy you see virtually every day anyway would be so _hard_?   
  
X  
  
Harry glances over his shoulder from where he's stood in front of the dresser, hands in one of his bags looking for the Aloe, and his gaze lands on Niall just as the blond walks out of the bathroom clad in nothing but the white briefs he'd worn beneath his swim trunks. He drags his gaze up and down Niall's body, drinks him in properly for the first time in what feels like ages. Niall's hair looks even blonder, sun-kissed, and it's sticking out every which way but it's not the hair (or even his state of undress) that grabs Harry's attention, it's his skin – so, so red compared to his usual complexion. His shoulders have taken the brunt of the sunburn but the redness is all over Niall's face, on the tips of his ears and about halfway down his chest. The rest of him is just tanned a few shades darker than his usually pale, Irish skin.  


They're in Miami, is the thing, and they've spent more time out in the sun and heat in the last two days than they have in the last two weeks. Yesterday, Niall and Harry had gone down to the hotel pool with Josh, Lou and Lux and a few others from their crew; they'd spent the majority of the afternoon there, frolicking in the water before sneaking out for a quiet dinner. This morning they'd gone back out on the yacht with the lads and their security and spent the majority of the day either on the deck or in the water.  


They're back at the hotel now, having left the other's on the yacht, and Niall looks like he's in so much pain – like his shoulders are too sore to even move them – that all Harry can think about is making him feel better. They have the room to themselves and their security have left them to their own devices for the night.  


"I'm so _hot_ ," Niall groans, sidling up next to Harry. He wraps both arms around Harry's waist presses his chin into the side of Harry's shoulder, gaze settled on the bag.  


Harry smirks, tosses him a sideways wink. "Yeah you are."  


Niall smiles. "No, but seriously. I think I have a fever – do I have a fever?"  


"You don't have a fever, Niall," Harry says calmly because he knows that Niall's just being dramatic; Niall knows he doesn't have a fever, obviously. He kisses Niall on the forehead though, which is hot to the touch, and then quickly on the lips. "You have a sunburn."  


"Of course I have a sunburn – it's 'cause I'm Irish," Niall scoffs.  


"It's 'cause you didn't put more sunscreen on when I told you to."  


Niall scowls in response and pulls himself away from Harry.  


Harry finds the bottle of aloe and then drags Niall towards the bed. He sits on the edge, one leg bent on the mattress in front of him and pulls Niall around to sit in front of him; Niall copies Harry's position, one leg folded, propped up on the mattress whilst the other dangles over the edge.   


"'m never doing that again," the blond mutters.  


"You say that every time," Harry laughs. He pops the cap open, squirts a generous amount of the green gel into the palm of his left hand and then places the bottle in his lap before he brings his hands together to spread the gel. "It's gonna be cold," he murmurs in warning.   


"I'd take ice cubes at this point."  


Harry smiles affectionately and then rubs both hands over Niall's red shoulders. Niall hisses and his body jerks instinctively away from the cold but then he relaxes, melts into it and rolls his head back on his neck. A slight, adoring smile tugs at Harry's lips as he continues to spread the green gel all over the red skin of Niall's back.  


"Oh my _God_ , Haz. That feels so good."  


Harry leans forward to press a kiss on the top of Niall's head, through hair that still smells like sea salt.   


"Fuck, gimme more."  


The brunette smirks, squirts more gel into his hand and then starts again, only higher up on Niall's shoulders and a bit further down his biceps.  


"Yes," Niall breathes. "You're good at this."  


"Yeah?"  


Niall hums.  


"Ok, turn around and face me," Harry murmurs, patting Niall's hip. Niall does as he's told, mirrors Harry's position. Harry stares at him for a minute – at the red painted across his forehead, his cheeks and the bridge of his nose. His gaze falls to Niall's lips, which are pinker than usual and probably also a bit sunburned, and he leans in, kisses Niall gently.  


Niall moans, melts into it.  


"Do they burn?" Harry asks when he pulls back a moment later.   


"A bit – but not enough for you to stop," Niall points out, eyebrow raised.   


Harry smirks. "Gotta take care of your chest first, babe."   


Niall tilts his head back and squares his shoulders like he's welcoming the gel and Harry squirts some into his hand before he rubs it across Niall's chest. A moan slips through Niall's lips once more and Harry's dick twitches; he can see Niall's face now, twisted into a look of relief and _pleasure_. He continues to rub the gel into the red skin stretched across Niall's collarbones even as his gaze falls to rest on the thick, creamy column of Niall's throat. The skin there is perfectly white, unmarked by the sun, and, well, Harry can't help himself. He leans forward, buries his nose into the crook of Niall's neck and latches his lips to Niall's sensitive spot just above his collarbone. Niall's skin smells like a mixture of salt from the ocean and sweat.  


Niall gasps and a hand cards through Harry's hair. His heartbeat quickens – Harry can feel it through the vein in his neck.  


The brunette smiles as he pulls back, hands wrapped around the sides of Niall's neck as Niall brings his head forward, looks at him with heavy-lidded, blown-out eyes. "Hi," Harry breathes.  


"Hiya," Niall murmurs, pressing their lips together. He sucks at Harry's bottom, plays with the short curls at the back of Harry's head with one hand and slips the other under the collar of Harry's shirt – because, somehow, Harry's still fully dressed – and over the curve of his shoulder in an effort to push it off.   


Harry groans as he pulls away, pushes gently on Niall's chest as he climbs to his feet. "Gimme 30 seconds or less," he murmurs between kisses.   


"Nooo," Niall murmurs, chasing Harry's lips with his own; the hand in Harry's hair slips down to wrap around his collar.   


"I have to wash my hands," Harry laughs, pecking at Niall's lips before pulling away again. "I'll be right back." He backs away, then, and rolls his eyes playfully when Niall pouts at him before disappearing into the bathroom. When he emerges, less than a minute later, Niall's lying on his stomach across the length of the bed, his arms straight by his sides and his perky little bum, covered only by the thin fabric of his briefs, on full display. Harry grabs the aloe bottle off the end of the bed and tosses it back into his bag. "You feeling ok?"  


"Jus' tired," Niall mutters, craning his neck to look back at him over his shoulder.  


Harry climbs back onto the bed, carefully straddles Niall's calves and then leans forward, hands planted into the mattress on either side of Niall's waist. He presses a kiss to the small of Niall's back, just above the line of his waistband and then takes his right hand to pull the fabric down, exposing the contrast between the tanned skin of Niall's back and the white, pasty skin of his arse. He drops another kiss there – Niall moans, arches his back in a way that pushes his arse up and Harry smiles against his skin – before kissing a trail up Niall's back and over his shoulder. He lets his hard, already leaking dick – still in the confines of his shorts – press against Niall's bum. "How tired?"  


Niall props himself up on his elbows, turns his torso just enough so that he can catch Harry's wandering lips in his before he murmurs, "not that tired."  


Harry's heart starts beating so hard in his chest he's positive that Niall can hear it.   
  
X  
  
  
Harry tries not to let it bug him that Niall sits at the bottom of the stairs, below Liam, rather than up on the catwalk with him. He tries not to let it get to him that Niall's motionless, save for his fingers strumming the strings of his guitar or that he's starting to get emotional. Little Things has always been a bit emotional for Niall – but most of the time it's only during his own solo, when the fans are cheering so loud he can hardly hear his own voice. But this is different. During Harry's solo he can't help but continuously look down at Niall, tries desperately to make Niall _hear_ him when he sings like he's singing it to Niall himself.  


And then Niall's voice cracks during his solo and out of the corner of his eye he sees Liam look at him like he doesn't know what to do so Harry nods, ever-so-slightly and Liam gets it – of course he does. Liam moves down the steps, curls an arm around Niall's shoulder, harmonizes with him and plays with his ear and Niall smiles, so Harry should be happy, but the smile doesn't reach Niall’s eyes. And Harry wants, more than anything, to be with Niall; he wants to hug Niall, hold him, kiss him, tell him it's going to be ok – that _they_ will be ok.  
He can't concentrate on the rest of the song. He gets through his verse and tells the crowd to sing the rest but he doesn't pay much attention because he can't stop staring at Niall.  
Niall gets up the second the song ends and turns away, like he knows Harry's watching him, to hand his guitar off to Paul backstage. And Harry tries not to let it bother him.  
  
+  
  
Harry hovers outside Niall's hotel room. The show ended a of couple hours ago and Niall had disappeared almost right away – so quickly that Harry hadn't even had a chance to see if he was really as ok as he was pretending to be. Harry had left him alone, at first, had gone to Bus 1 with Louis and Zayn if for no other reason than to give Niall a minute to wind down.  


Niall had requested, just the other day, that they tone everything _down_ for a little while. Everything between _them_ , to be specific. He'd said he thought they were getting reckless, that people – the lads, especially, because they were starting to make jokes and comments – were going to catch on if they weren't more careful. And Harry had agreed, but only because he didn't want to start a fight and if "toning it down" is the best way to still _keep_ Niall, then that's what he was going to do.  


And then they'd had a fight before tonight's show rolled around and Niall didn't seem like himself; he was quieter, more reserved, didn't talk very much – didn't talk to Harry very much at all. Niall had decided to spend the last couple nights in his own room, rather than share a room with Harry, and the last few days with Josh and all Harry had wanted was a few moments _alone_ with Niall before the show.  


Niall answers the door in nothing but his boxers. His eyes are a little bit red and puffy, his cheeks and the tips of his ears are pink and his bottom lip is currently pulls between his teeth.   


Harry's breath catches in his throat and his heart stutters. Instinct tells him to leap forward, pull Niall into his arms and never let go – and a few days ago he would've. But he doesn't know what the boundaries are between them anymore and, for the first time in ages – probably even since he met Niall – he isn't sure how Niall will react.  


"Hi," Harry whispers, pushing his hands deep into his front pockets. "Can I come in? Please?"  
Niall steps aside and Harry takes the invitation, slips past him into the room. Harry hovers, watches Niall close the door and flip the lock over the doorframe, tries to settle the butterflies in his stomach. Niall turns away from the door, then, and touches the tips of his fingers to Harry's elbow before sliding them down his forearm – and Harry gets the message, pulls his hand out of his pocket and lets Niall intertwine their fingers. It's only for a few seconds though, until they get to the bed and Niall drops his hand in favour of crawling back under the covers that had previously been pushed back. He makes room for Harry, leaves the covers open and looks up at Harry with tired eyes.  


Harry stares back at Niall whilst peeling off his own clothes until he, too, is swearing nothing but black briefs. He leaves his clothes on the floor and crawls into the bed, pulls the blankets over both of them and then curls his arm around Niall's waist to pull him in close. They continue to stare at each other silently, wordlessly; neither one of them say anything because neither one of them has to. Harry sort of wishes they would, though; wonders if they _should_.  


"I'm sorry," Niall whimpers. A shaky breath slips through his lips and then he's kissing Harry and pushing Harry back so he can push on leg between both of Harry's and fit himself along the length of Harry's body. "I'm sorry," he murmurs again, this time into Harry's mouth.   


Harry continues to hold him close with his left arm as he cards his right hand through Niall's hair and rubs his fingers over the back of his neck. "It's ok. Baby, it's ok." His voice is soft, hushed as he continues to whisper the same thing over and over in Niall's ear. He wants Niall to believe it.   


_He_ wants to believe it too.  
  
X  
  
Things go back to normal after that, for the most part. The American leg of the tour ended that same day and they, as a band, finish up the last of their interviews for This Is Us in the days leading up to the premiere scheduled for one and a half weeks later. They attend the premiere, they bring their families out to see it. Things are normal and nobody seems to notice that things were ever _not_ normal, even if it was only for a short time.  


They, as in Niall and Harry, don't really talk about what happened. In fact, Niall pretends it didn't happen at all and, well, Harry can't bring himself to acknowledge otherwise. Nor does he want to because he doesn't want it start another fight, doesn't want it to push Niall away.   


And then comes September, whilst everyone else goes back to the UK (and stays) for the few weeks they have off before the start of the Australian leg of the tour, Niall flies out earlier – and he brings with him about 15 of his closest friends and family members. He has other family down under, is the thing, and he wants to spend his birthday there – and Harry's ok with that. He tells Niall this when the blond boy asks him; he tells Niall that since he's seen Niall more than anyone else for the last seven months then he can let Niall have some time with his family and his friends for a few weeks. He tries to pass it off as a joke even though it's also mostly genuine and he assured Niall that it really isn't a big deal that he has to stay away.   


Except that it sort of is. Not because he doesn't want Niall to spend time with his family, it's just...he wishes he could be a part of it. Like, properly.  


Harry knows that Niall's family loves him. Maura has considered him an honorary Irishman from the moment Harry showed an interest in the Irish heritage when he was 16 and went to Ireland with Niall for a few days. Bobby's always had this notion that Harry and Niall had a special sort of friendship. Greg likes to joke that he's like the brother Greg never had. Even Niall's cousins, whom Harry's only met a handful of times, have expressed how much they like him. And Harry likes that – he does. Because he, too, likes – _loves_ – Niall's family and Harry's family loves Niall return.   


It's just, well, Harry wishes Niall's family could like him for _loving_ Niall, not just being friends with Niall.  
  
X  
  
  
Harry's always liked babies – so when Niall tells him that Denise and Greg will be bringing Theo to Australia with them, Harry's a bit over the moon about it. He'd been less than thrilled when he couldn't be there with Niall when Theo was born – Niall had sent him loads of pictures, of course, and he took a video of Theo yawning and curling his tiny little hand around Niall's pinkie and those had been great, really. But seeing Theo in person, now, is even better.  


Theo's tiny. He's just over three months old and he doesn't do very much apart from eat and sleep and poop but Harry's a bit in love with him the moment he sees teeny, tiny Horan. He's an almost perfect mixture of both Greg and Denise but Harry can see a bit of Niall too; he's beautiful. And, naturally, Harry sort of kidnaps him the moment he stirs in his car seat.  


"You better be careful with him, Denise," Niall says in a playfully warning tone. "You might not get your baby back if you let Harry keep him too long."  


"Heyyy," Harry protests. He's sitting on the couch in a dressing room, his feet propped up on the coffee table in front of him with the baby propped up against his thighs. They're in their own little world, Theo's tiny little fingers playing, fascinated, with the ring on Harry's right hand, despite the fact that the room is littered with band and crew members.  


Denise laughs, smiles at Harry from across the room where she's sat with Gemma -- probably gossiping.   


Niall sits on the couch beside Harry. Theo rolls his head against Harry's thigh to look at his uncle, stares for a moment like he's trying to figure out who Niall is and how he knows him and then Niall reaches out to tickle at Theo's stomach and the baby gurgles happily. "Best baby in the world, isn't he?" Niall murmurs. He scrunches his nose, makes a face as Theo curls in on himself and grins toothlessly.   


Harry hums in agreement, watches Theo grab on to one of Niall's fingers – watches Niall smile lovingly in response. "He's a Horan; of course he's the best."  


Niall snorts, rolls his eyes. He leans back into the couch, shoulder pressed against Harry's, and let's Theo pull his index finger into his mouth.  


"I want one of these one day," Harry murmurs, his gaze settling back on Theo. "Maybe five."  


"I reckon if you could have one _right now_ you would," Niall teases. "'m still a bit surprised you never tried to raise Lux as your own."  


"Nah -- got a few more years left," Harry shrugs. "Besides, borrowing babies is easy enough for now."  


" _Borrowing babies_ ," Niall snickers.   


Harry grins at him. And then Theo drops Niall's hand and gurgles as he flaps his arms about and kicks his legs against Harry's stomach. Harry winces and a soft "oof" slips through his lips as Theo looks up at him with bright blue eyes identical to Niall's.   


Niall laughs – and then Theo _giggles_ and Harry is so far gone.

 

Everything feels so, so perfect.  
  
X  
  
"I didn't want to do this over the phone," Niall whispers. His voice is rough, sounds a bit raw. A shaky, shallow breath slips through his lips. It's barely audible, but it rings in Harry's ear along with the words Niall's just spoken – and, suddenly, Harry wishes he hadn't picked up the phone at all.  


He's alone in the spare bedroom he's been claiming as his own for just over a week now, having excused himself from the dinner he'd been having with Jeff and his family – because when your boyfriend calls from across the ocean, you answer. He hasn't seen Niall since the blond and the rest of their band flew back to the UK after 1D Day but he'd spoken with Niall just the other day and everything had been fine. Niall had giggled into the phone the minute he picked up and they'd talked for a little over a half an hour before the blond said he'd see Harry soon and then hung up with a rather breathless "bye, Haz."  


Now, Harry's not so sure that everything is ok.  


"D-Do what?" Harry asks. His voice trembles uncertainly. He knows what the answers going to be but he needs to _hear_ it, needs Niall to _say_ it. He needs it no matter how much he knows it’s going to hurt.  


"I think we need to take a break."  


Harry blinks. His stomach churns like he's going to be sick and his heart leaps into his throat, makes him forget how to breathe. He knew that was coming and yet no amount of preparation was ever going to prepare him for it. "W-what?"  


"Don't – don't make me repeat it."  


Harry tries hard to breathe through his nose so the sob building up in his chest doesn't slip out through his mouth. His legs feel weak, even though he's sitting on the edge of the bed and he leans forward, elbows digging into his knees; his right hand is holding his phone to his ear whilst his left dangles down between his legs.   


"Harry-"  


"No," the brunette mutters.  


Niall's breath hitches. "No – what do you mean 'no'? You can't just say no-"  


"And _you_ can't just say we need to take a break and not give me an explanation – or expect me to be ok with it," Harry snaps. And suddenly he's angry – not just hurt – because where did this come from? Things were _fine_ two days ago. Unless...perhaps they weren't.   


"I'm in London, Harry," Niall sighs. "And you're in LA. With Kendall-"  


Harry scoffs, rolls his eyes as he runs a hand through his hair. "I told you that's nothing, Niall. We're not – Kendall and I are just friends. It's a-"  


"I know what it is. But it doesn't change the fact that you're _there_ and I'm here. It doesn't change the fact that all these rumours are floating around and I-"  


"-they're just _rumours_ ," Harry insists, because Niall knows more than anything that most of the time rumours are just rumours.   


"I don't want to fight, Harry, I just – I think it's best if we take a break while we're already...apart," Niall mutters.  


"Apart," Harry whispers bitterly. "It's not like – I'm not gonna be here the whole time, Niall. I'm gonna be there for Christmas and-"  


"Harry," Niall says, his voice a little bit more firm than it was even a moment ago.  


Harry's breath catches in his throat. The backs of his eyes burn.   


"Please don't make this any harder than it already is," the blond whispers desperately.  


Harry remains silent, wills the tears collecting in his eyes not to fall and struggles to hold back the sob working its way up his throat. He doesn't want to cry – doesn't want to believe that Niall would _make_ him cry.   


"I think we need this, Haz," Niall murmurs. His voice shakes again and his breathing sounds rather uneven. "I think we need a bit of time apart – _I_...need a bit of time apart."  


Harry pulls the phone away from his ear, holds it both hands between his legs with his hand over the bottom. He chokes on the sob and a tear trickles down his cheek and he _swears_ his heart is breaking apart in his chest. Everything hurts. He digs his cheek into his shoulder, uses the fabric of his jumper to wipe away the wetness before lifting the phone back to his ear just as Niall says his name and-  


"Ok," he mutters, because he doesn't trust himself to say anything more.  


Silence falls between them, then, and Harry tries to settle his own breathing whilst simultaneously trying to listen to Niall's.   


"I'll um," Niall starts – stops when his voice trembles. He swallows, hard, and breathes shakily and despite his own heart falling apart, Harry wants to crawl through the phone to get to him. Perhaps if he could, if it were possible, then Niall would change his mind. "I'll see you – for the X Factor finale, yeah?"  


"Yeah."  


Harry wishes he could say he couldn't see this coming.   
  
X  
  
Harry thinks if Niall hadn't been so upset about it – and if they hadn't been made to see each other in the following days, weeks and months – back in August then Niall would've ended in that hotel room. And he doesn't know if that would've been easier or harder.  
The thing is, Niall's always been a bit on the fence about their...relationship. He'd always been a little bit more gaurded, a little more secretive – and a little more worried that someone would find out. Whilst Harry thrived off the secrecy, in some ways, Niall hated it but needed it at the same time. Where Harry wasn't afraid to take risks, to be with Niall _in the moment_ , Niall was always the one to make the plans in advance, to take every precaution he could to keep people from finding out.   


Harry doesn't think Niall was ashamed of him, although the thought did cross his mind briefly. Nor does he think Niall is ashamed of his sexuality. In fact, he thinks that Ed is entirely right – that it has nothing to do with Harry at all and everything to do with Niall just being _scared_.  


And more than anything, Harry wishes he could take that away from him. Because Harry's afraid too. There's no way he couldn't be afraid – he's been afraid from the moment he realized he was in love with Niall. He just... Perhaps he's had a little bit more time to get used to feeling it.  
  
X  
  
Harry pinches the bridge of his nose with his left hand whilst holding his phone to his ear with his right. The ache in his temples throbs and he closes his eyes, breathes in and out with high-pitched ringing in his ear. He can't sleep, which is why he has a headache and his stomach has been off for days. Since New Year’s Day, if he's honest, when pictures surfaced all over the Internet of Niall spending New Year’s Eve with his "friend" Barbara. (He's met Barbara, he's heard about Barbara and she seems like a very nice girl so Harry really doesn't have a legitimate reason as to why he doesn't like her – other than the fact that she's spending time with Niall whilst all sorts of dating rumours continue to swirl around them.)  
Harry's not much better, admittedly, because he's also very aware of the rumours about him and Kendall – but it's also entirely different. Right? He and Kendall are just friends and Niall _knows_ this. And, yes, he's spending a lot of time with Kendall but he's also hanging out with Jeff too.  


He begins to doubt himself, then – because who is he to worry about the rumours surrounding Niall when he has his own set of rumours? Who is he to get upset? He's about to hang up, starts to pull the phone away from his ear when the ringing stops. Instead of hanging up he holds his breath.  


"Hey," Niall murmurs. He sounds tired – and Harry remembers that it's going on two o'clock in the morning in London.  


"Tell me you aren't actually seeing her," Harry pleads; the words slip through his lips like word vomit. The butterflies in his stomach come to life and his heart feels like it's going to beat out of his ribcage.   


Niall sighs heavily. "Harry-"  


"Fuck, Niall," Harry breathes shakily. "It's – a _month_ , it's been _one month_ and you're already-"  


"I'm not seeing her."  


The brunette sucks in a short breath. His heart stutters, his stomach flips over and relief floods through him.   


"Harry, you-"  


"'t's just not what it looks like," Harry mutters; he wants Niall to know what it _does_ look like.  


"Nothing's what it looks like – _you and Kendall_ aren't what it looks like," Niall snaps pointedly. "Or did you forget about _that_?"  


And there it is: the comparison. Harry groans, rests his head back against the headboard of his bed in Jeff's spare room, where he's propped up against the pillows. "You knew from the beginning that Kendall and I are just friends; I told you the truth-"  


"And I'm not telling you the truth?" Niall demands, cutting the brunette off quickly.  


Harry blinks. "You didn't tell me about how much time you've been spending with her-"  


"I didn't know I had to – we're _friends_ , Harry," Niall says sharply. He sounds frustrated, angry. "It was never – I wouldn't... I didn't tell you because I didn't think you'd think anything of it. I thought you'd at least give me the decency to know that I wouldn't let you find out any other way than from _me_."  


Harry frowns, groans inwardly. He closes his eyes and runs a hand through his hair. He feels guilty – and not just because Niall sounds disappointed in him; he just...he knows that Niall's right. "'m sorry," he whispers, let's a slow breath out through his nose. "I...I just – I saw-"  


"I know," Niall murmurs, voice muffled. And even from across the ocean, he's saving Harry from having to explain it. "And I promise I'm not."  


"'m not either," Harry assures him.  


"Ok." Niall's voice sounds a little bit more relieved than Harry expects to hear.  


"Ok," Harry breathes. And, not for the first time, he wishes he could crawl through the phone to get to him – to _see_ him. Even if it doesn't fix anything.  


"I have to go," Niall mutters.  


"Niall?"  


"Hmm?"  


Harry takes a deep, shaky breath. "Good luck, with your surgery next week." He knows Niall's nervous. He was there when Niall booked the appointment over the phone back in November; Harry had planned to be there, surprise him. It's only a few days away now, though, and Harry still wants to go but he knows he won't. He doesn't think he should.   


"Thanks," the blond whispers.  


"Keep me posted, yeah?"  


"I will."  


Niall's the first to hang up. The dial tone echoes in Harry's head as he continues to hold it to his ear.   
  
X  
  
Harry's alone in the studio, being the first and only one here apart from some of the crew members and he's messing about on his phone when he hears the door open. He thinks nothing of it but looks up anyway – and in walks Niall. Harry's breath catches in his throat and his stomach fills with butterflies just at the sight of the boy standing in the doorway.  


Niall smiles at him, turns to drop his bag onto a table in the corner and shoves his phone into the back, left-hand pocket of his jeans. He turns back around to face Harry and leans against the edge of the table. "Hey," Niall greets him.  


"Hey," Harry murmurs back, turning his attention back to his phone. This is the first time they've been each other's presence _alone_ since before the break. There was the X Factor after party in which Niall hung out with Barbara for most of the night, the Brit Awards in which they were literally _never_ alone and yesterday's rehearsals were such a mess of the boys getting back into it that they didn't even have a _chance_ to be alone. All Harry's wanted, since being back in the UK – since the beginning of the break, if he's honest – is to have Niall _alone_ and now he's so bloody nervous he can't even think.  


"Can we, um – can I talk to you later?" Niall asks, crossing his legs out in front of him. "Like, after rehearsals?"  


Harry blinks up at him, phone still in his hand. A lump forms in his throat and he forces it down as he leans forward. "Talk about what?"  


"Us," the blond murmurs. He looks nervous now, glances down at his converse shoes for a moment before he looks back up -- and he almost looks sort of terrified. "I mean, we don't have to if it isn't what you want anymore, I just-"  


"I want it," Harry blurts. He regrets it almost immediately because he literally couldn't have given in any easier.  


Niall smiles, cocks his head to the side curiously. "Yeah?"  


Harry nods.  


"My house? I'll make a Jamie Oliver dinner-"  


The sound of the door opening and Louis, Liam and Zayn flooding into the room drowns out the rest of what Niall says.   


They fall into it easily, the five of them, the way they always do. With jokes and laughs and more stories from their respective holidays. And singing, of course, because it's rehearsals – and singing, between the five of them, has always been easy.   


And if anyone notices that he and Niall share a few glances and smiles just for each other, then nobody mentions it.  
  
+  
  
Dinner's on the stove, simmering when Niall plops onto the couch next to where Harry's sat flipping through the channels on Niall's telly. Harry's been sitting, rather nervously, in the living room for the better part of the last half hour with a very clear view of Niall working away in the open kitchen – Niall, who refused to accept Harry's help and banished him to the couch because Harry is the "guest". Harry had pouted and rolled his eyes because since when did he become just a _guest_?  


Niall winces as he kicks his legs up onto the coffee table in front of them, crosses his left ankle over his right. He rubs a hand over his left knee, then, and Harry's gaze falls to watch the motion.  


"You ok?" Harry asks worriedly. He turns the telly off using the remote and turns his whole body to face Niall properly. His fingers twitch with the urge to reach out for him.   


Niall shrugs. "It's still healing, so it hurts a bit sometimes," he murmurs. "Mostly if I've been standing on it for too long."  


Harry leans forward, then, grabs gently at Niall's foot to pull his leg towards him and drape it over his lap. Niall let's him, easily. And out of the corner of his eye he sees Niall watching him intently. He massages, carefully – the way he used to, when Niall's knee would flare up on tour – at Niall's knee cap. His touch is gentle, practiced and the breath that slips through Niall's lips tells Harry it's helping. "You should've told me; we could've traded places," he murmurs, disregarding Niall's earlier _guest_ comments. "I used to be a baker, you know."  


Niall laughs softly, rolls his eyes. "Like you'd ever let anyone forget it."  


Harry smirks because it's true.  


"Ok, I don't-" Niall starts and then cuts himself off, looks up at the ceiling thoughtfully. He looks serious now, all the traces of his joke pushed aside, shoulders tense. "I have no idea where to start so I'm just gonna... I need to know where I stand." He looks at Harry, then, and smiles weakly. "Where _we_ stand."  


Harry licks his lips, nervously. He tries to concentrate on massaging Niall's knee; he's can't remember the last time he felt this nervous. "My feelings haven't changed, Niall. If anything they've just-" he cuts himself off.  


" _Absence makes the heart grow fonder_ ," Niall recites.   


Harry smiles, nods slightly as he looks down at where his fingers are still massaging Niall's knee.   


"I want this, Haz," Niall whispers. He shifts, then, turns his whole body to face Harry and bends his leg on the cushion between them. The movement forces Harry to pull his hands back and clasp them together in his lap. "I didn't want to take a break because I didn't want to be with you – I wanted it because I needed...I needed a minute to breathe, you know? Everything was just so _intense_ and it happened so fast and it felt like I couldn't breathe. And then the Kendall thing happened and we fought about it and – I just thought if we took a break then I could take a minute to breathe and to think-"  


"Think about what?" Harry asks him, stops the blond mid-sentence.  


"About how strong my feelings were," Niall murmurs. He looks down at where his own fingers are tugging absentmindedly with the loose threads in the hole in the knee of his jeans. He looks just as nervous as Harry feels. "I've never -- it's never felt like this before. I've never been this _serious_ about someone before. And it just...it scared me.  


"Everything happened so quickly with us, you know? One minute I was admitting to myself – and then to you – that I had feelings for you and my intention was to just let things progress slowly, see where it went – but then everything just... _went_. It scared me how quickly everything just sort of...fit, you know? How quickly we became _us_ , how _easy_ it was. And then it was like I just woke up one day and I realized where we were and how _strong_ my feelings had gotten and – that's why I freaked out in LA. But it's also why when you came to my room that night I let you in and I forced myself to just forget about it – to stop being such a fucking pussy.  


"And then the break happened and I just needed a breather. I needed some proper _time_ to figure meself out and since I knew you'd be spending most of the break in LA I figured it would be perfect. Plus, I just...knowing that you would be in LA and I was gonna be here -- I didn't want it to be, like, I missed you all the time because you weren't here or, I didn't want to feel like I wanted to call you or text you all the time... I thought if we're taking a break it would be easier not to do that. Turns out that didn't work very well; I still missed you all the fucking time and I still wanted to talk to you whenever I could. I wanted to pick up the phone and call you _so many times_ , Harry."  


"You should've," Harry finds himself saying. "I would've answered, no matter what."  


"I know, that's why I didn't," Niall murmurs. "I didn't want to make things harder for you – for either of us, but mostly for you."  


Harry blinks, stares at Niall. He wants to say something – anything – but his mouth feels like sandpaper. His gaze drops to Niall's hands when the blond reaches out to touch Harry's hand, the one that's still absentmindedly settled on Niall's knee – and he watches as Niall plays with his fingers.  
"I said this already – but I want this," Niall murmurs. "With you. I want it all, I want everything with you. I want to see where this goes – but more importantly, I want it to go somewhere. And I think, if we do this again, we should take it a bit slower, yeah? That is, if it's still what you want..." His voice sounds hopeful and slightly guarded, like he isn't sure what it is he's expecting, before it trails off.   


Harry's breath catches in his throat. He blinks, stares speechless at the blond boy in front of him.   


"Tell me you still want this," Niall whispers.  


Harry surges forward, cups Niall's face with both hands and presses his lips firmly against Niall's. He feels Niall smile into the kiss which only makes Harry kiss him harder, nip at Niall's bottom lip with his teeth. "Of course I still want this," he pants when he pulls back, forehead pressed against Niall's.   


The blond smiles even harder, cards on hand through Harry's hair and uses the other pull at Harry's waist, tug him closer.   


Harry goes easily, brushes their noses together. "Just – there's a couple of other things I want too," he murmurs.   


Niall pulls his head back, cocks it to the side. "What's that?"  


Harry folds his arm against the back of the couch beside him and then rests his head against his bicep. He looks at Niall – who's looking back at him patiently – and although he isn't as nervous as he was before this, the butterflies in his stomach are still very much alive. "I want to tell my mum – my family," he says, letting out a breath he didn't know he'd been holding. "And I want you to be able to tell yours."  


"Ok," Niall nods.  


"And I want to tell the lads," the brunette continues. If it were before this – before their _break_ – he might have thought it was a long shot, to get Niall to agree to it, but he's more confident now. Mostly because Niall seems more confident as well. "It's just – it would be so much easier to just...be together, you know? Like, if they knew there wouldn't be as much sneaking around or pretending-"  


"Ok."  


Harry blinks. "What?"  


"Let's do it," Niall says, smile stretching across his lips.   


"N-now?"  


"Not _now_ -now; we can, like, have dinner first. We can Skype the families after and then tomorrow we can tell the lads and-"  


Harry smirks fondly. He'd been expecting Niall to agree, yes, but he hadn't quite been expecting such enthusiasm. "I thought you wanted to take things slow."  


"I did – I do," Niall replies. He shrugs, then, and tugs gently at one of Harry's wayward curls. "It's just the sooner we tell 'em the sooner we can get to it – taking things slow, you know?"  


Harry grins crookedly and then leans in, ever-so-slowly, teasingly, until they're nose to nose and he can see the different shades of blue and flecks of gold and green in Niall's eyes. "How...slowly?" he drawls, sliding both hands up the insides of Niall's thighs.  


Niall smirks, curls his fingers around both open ends of Harry's plaid, flannel shirt and pulls him closer. "Not that slow."  
  
X  
  
They Skype Anne and Robin first and, for some reason, Harry's never been so nervous. He thinks it might be something to do with the fact that actually, physically telling his mum is going to make everything that much more _real_.  


Anne cries happy tears; sobs words of congratulations and pride; asks so many questions; says that "everything makes sense now"; tells them she wants to see them _both_ very, very soon and Harry promises to make that happen. He also begs her to stop crying because it makes the backs of his eyes burn as well.  


Robin sits next to her, a fond smile playing on his lips, gaze glued almost continuously to the bottom portion of the screen where Harry's hand is clasped with Niall's; sounds proud when he congratulates them before they end the call nearly 45 minutes later.  


And Harry breathes a sigh of relief when the screen goes blank, sags against Niall's shoulder, wipes the sleeve of his jumper over wet eyes and hums when Niall presses a kiss to the top of his head.  


Des doesn't have Skype so Harry opts to call him shortly afterwards, puts him on speaker phone so Niall can hear and then blurts it out just to get it over with. Des is silent, at first, and Harry's about two seconds away from taking him off speaker so Niall doesn't have to hear – but then Des asks if he's happy, if _they_ are happy. Harry tells him yes, _of course_ they're happy; ridiculously happy. It's the only thing that matters, for Des, and Harry, once again, finds himself sniffing back tears.   
  
+  
  
After Harry's parents are taken care of, Niall texts both Bobby and Maura. He tells them he has something important to tell them, asks them if they can meet on Skype. In waiting for a response, Niall chews nervously on his fingernails and picks at the frayed strings of the rip in his jeans – and so Harry takes both of Niall's hands and intertwines their fingers and, in the same way that Niall did for him, assures Niall that everything will be ok.  


They make a group call so they can tell both Bobby and Maura at the same time.  


Bobby cheers, grins like the proud father he's always been and says he always did wonder about the two of them – from the second Niall told them he'd asked Harry to come back to Ireland with him way back when, if he's honest.  


Maura just sort of...cries tears of happiness, the same way Anne had. She blows her nose into a tissue and waves her hands in front of her eyes in a vain attempt to hold back tears and makes requests for family dinners; says she wants to see them both, _together_ , the next time she sees them.   
  
+  
  
Harry calls Gemma later, has to pull the phone away from his ear when she squeals. He can imagine her bouncing up and down excitedly, pacing around her room as she scolds him (albeit affectionately, the way an older sibling would) for not telling her sooner. He stays on the phone with her for what feels like hours, legs tangled with Niall's on the sofa whilst Niall texts back-and-forth with Greg. Gemma doesn't cry, per say, but she gets emotional and nostalgic; talks about all those times she'd joined him on tour and how she should've _known_.  


And then she asks to talk to Niall – so he gives Niall the phone and watches fondly as Niall falls back into the arm of the couch and laughs with his sister.  
  
+  
  
They tell the lads together in the studio the following day. Everybody else has left, security included to collect the cars for their exit strategies and the only ones left in the room are the five of them.  


It's Niall that speaks up first and although Harry knows that Niall's in it just as much as Harry this time around, he still finds himself a bit surprised it's Niall that says, "Harry and I have something we need to tell you." It also tugs at his heart strings and makes the butterflies come to life in his stomach.  


None of the lads are surprised. They're a bit speechless, at first, which is strange – especially for Louis, but they don't seem all that shocked. They don't even really ask questions; they just let Niall explain it to them, fond looks spread across their faces.  


Louis says he always knew Harry had a thing for Niall; says he could tell by the way Harry looked at Niall when nobody was paying attention; says that even though he couldn't have known it was anything serious, he could tell that Harry was a bit more fond of Niall than he ever was the rest of them.  


Liam says that the amount of time they had spent alone last year – in addition to all the time they had suddenly spent apart – had begun to make him wonder; says that some of the things Harry and/or Niall would say or do had made him think; says he isn't surprised because they're kind of perfect for each other.   


And Zayn is more surprised by the fact that he isn't surprised at all.  


And then once Harry and Niall are alone, after Liam, Louis and Zayn have all left, Harry feels like a huge weight has been lifted off of his shoulders. Knowing he doesn't have to lie anymore, knowing they won't have to try nearly as hard to sneak around one the tour starts feels so incredibly amazing. He doesn't even know how to describe it.  
  
X  
  
They're inseparable after that – on and off stage. And mostly everyone, fans included, can see it.  


After the first four nights of requesting they have just one hotel room for the two of them, Paul stops asking all together and starts automatically setting them up in just one room. Caroline eventually stops putting them in two different dressing rooms. They go out together, stay in together – on top of spending the majority of their days together. They become a package deal in more ways than one; more so than before.  


Nobody asks questions; nobody has to.  
  
X  
  
Harry's sat on a stool at the bar, back turned to the counter, holding his drink in his hands between his knees. He's watching Niall, sitting tucked away in the corner of one of the three booths the lot of them – Niall, his dad, his cousins, his mates, Harry and the lads, the band, Gemma, and a few other members of the crew – had snagged on the way in. Niall, who's drunk and happy; joking around with his Irish people; sharing stories; buying rounds for everyone. Niall, who's just had the greatest night of his life performing in Croke Park. Niall, who's still buzzing even hours later.  


Someone slides on to the stool next to him and he finds himself tearing his gaze away from where the blond-haired, red-faced boy is laughing hysterically at something Sean has said. His gaze falls on his sister, shorter than him by only a few inches unless she's wearing heels – which she is, who's just come back from the loo. She's a bit tipsy and she's pulled her long, blond hair back into a messy bun to keep it out of her face.   


"You know I love you, Harry," she starts, bumping her shoulder against his, "but you're really not as subtle as you think you are."  


Harry furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "What do you mean?"  


"You're heart eyes can be seen from a mile away," she teases. "Maybe further."  


He feels the heat rise in his cheeks as he dips his head and raises his glass, looks into the bottom of it. "Shut up," he murmurs, taking a sip of his beer.  


Gemma smiles at him. "'s not a _bad_ thing."  


Harry shrugs, lifts his head; his gaze collides with glossy, blue eyes across the bar. Niall grins at him, waves a hand to say "hello" and then winks before turning back to take part in the conversation taking place around him. Harry's barely talked to him since they left the hotel after getting changed earlier, hasn't had a moment alone with him since _before_ the show tonight and it isn't because he can't – or because he feels like he shouldn't, it's just, well, Niall doesn't come _home_ often, doesn't get the chance to catch up with his friends and, well, Harry doesn't want to impose. Harry doesn’t want to take Niall’s attention away from his friends and family.  


"You're actually incredibly cute together," Gemma murmurs, taking a sip of her fruity cocktail. "Has anyone ever told you that?"  


Harry looks thoughtful for a few seconds, tears his gaze away to look up at the ceiling. He smiles, shrugs his shoulders casually. "Do the mothers count?"  


"No."  


"Then Lux has."  


Gemma smirks. "Well if a toddler thinks so then obviously it's true."  


"Obviously," Harry says seriously. And then he shrugs again. "Everyone else just sort of looks smug about it, y'know? The boys pretend we gross them out – not that we're overly affectionate or anything b'cause we're not. And I'm pretty sure I heard Caroline and Lou coo at us the other day."  


"Oh I can imagine," Gemma says fondly. "'m just – I'm really happy you're happy, little brother." She hops to her feet, then, grabs the back of his head with a free hand and pulls him forward to press a kiss against his forehead. "I wish you'd get rid of these scarves, though."  


He snorts, rolls his eyes playfully.  


"C'mon," she murmurs, dropping her hand to told it out in front of her; for him. "Let's join the rest of the party, yeah?"  


Harry nods, slips a hand into hers and lets her lead him back towards the table. They manage to squeeze themselves into the booth – and then Bobby orders another round of drinks to a round of collective, enthusiastic cheers. He feels something knock against his ankle and he looks up, into the corner to find Niall’s looking back at him, smirking. And Harry kicks him back gently, dips his head down to hide his smile in his glass.  
  
+  
  
"I can't _believe_ this day, Haz," Niall breathes, toes off his shoes and leaves them at the foot of the bed before crawling on to the mattress and lying down, fully-clothed, on top of the duvet. "We played Croke Park, Harry. _Croke Park_."  


They're alone now, everyone having gone their separate ways to their own rooms and hotels after leaving the pub. It's going on three o'clock in the morning now and they have to be on a plane to Glasgow in a little over five hours. They're both drunk, both exhausted – and both deliriously happy.  


Harry smiles, digs his wallet and his phone out of his back pockets to put them on the bedside table and then sits on the edge of the bed to kick off his shoes. His balance is either a little bit off or the room is literally spinning – but either way his legs are about to give way anyway. (Niall's not much better; lies on his back, struggles to pull his shirt off over his head.) "I can't believe we have two more shows there," he replies, shifting to lie back against his pillow.   


"Fuck, I know," Niall breathes, flopping back against his own pillows. "'m glad me family could make it – and the mates. 'm glad they could be there, y'know? Experience it wit' me-"  


"Of course they were gonna be there, Niall," Harry scoffs, reaching a hand out to thread his fingers through Niall's hair. He tilts his head, looks sideways at Niall as he lowers his hand to stroke the back of his knuckles over Niall's rosy cheek. "They're proud of you; we all are. Tonight was all about you and you were... _amazing_."  


Niall smiles, leans into Harry's touch as he rolls onto his side. He props his head on one hand, arm folded on top of his pillow; reaches his other hand out to play absentmindedly with the collar of Harry's polka dot shirt. "You know what else was amazing? That speech o' yers," he murmurs.  


"Yeah?" Harry smirks, looking smug and proud. "What was your favourite part? Mine's 'Croke Park Princess' -- just t'rowin' dat out dere," he says, adopting his best, drunk Irish accent.   


Niall rolls his eyes, pushes gently at his shoulder before rolling back on to his back, head cushioned in the pillow.  


Harry giggles, pushing himself up before reaching for the bottom of his shirt to pull it up over his head; he's much too lazy to undo all the buttons, so taking off his pants – regardless of the fact that he hates sleeping with clothes on – is out of the question. He flips himself over, winces when the room spins a bit and then crawls over top of the proud Irishman lying before him. Niall stares up at Harry, blue eyes glossy and soft, cheeks pink as Harry sprawls himself on top of Niall, nips at Niall's chin as he rests both arms on either side of Niall's head, threads his fingers through blond hair. "Hi," he whispers.  


"I love you," Niall whispers back, one arm coming up to circle around Harry's waist, hand splayed out on the small of his back whilst he raises the other to cup his hand around Harry's forearm.  


Harry blinks, breath catching in his throat like he's forgotten how to breathe. His chest tightens, heart beating wildly in his ears and his stomach flips over. "W-what?" he stutters, breathless.   


"I love you," the Irish says again, voice firmer this time. "I just – I do and this has been a really good day and you deserve to know. I _want_ you to know."  


Harry continues to stare at him silently, wordlessly – because as obvious as his response should be, it doesn't seem like enough. His thoughts are moving too fast, a bit panicky if he's honest, and his mouth is dry.  


Niall squeezes Harry's forearm, strokes his thumb over soft skin. He smiles a bit shyly, tilts his head as he continues to look up affectionately at Harry. "You don't have to say it back, I just-"  


Harry surges forward, presses his lips firm and determined against Niall's. He closed his fists in Niall's hair, tugs gently at his roots. Niall moans as he kisses back and Harry licks into his open mouth, kisses him harder. "I love you too," he breathes when he pulls away, pants against Niall's lips. His heart flutters, skips several beats. This is all he's ever wanted. "I love you."  


The blond smiles. "Yeah?"  


"So much."  


"Good," Niall smirks. "B'cause even though I said you didn't have to say it back I was still hoping you would-"  


Harry kisses him again, softer and sweeter this time as he plays absentmindedly with the tips of Niall's hair. "I do – I love you," he murmurs, starts a trail of kisses down Niall's neck. "I love you."  


Niall laughs, tosses his head back when Harry continues his trail and his "I love you's" across his collarbones until sleep claims them both a few minutes later.  
  
X  
  
Anyone that's ever said that One Direction is _graceful_ have never seen One Direction before, during or after a show.   


They're a mess, the five of them, of flailing limps and obnoxious laughter as they pile into the same black SUV after their show at the San Siro. As a general rule they usually travel in at least two cars but for the sake of the cameras following them for what will eventually be footage in the _Where We Are_ concert DVD they've opted to just use one. It's a tight fit – they're all taller and broader than they used to be when they would all travel in one car – but it's nowhere near as tight as being in the back of a bread van when they were back in Brazil. (Niall still feels a bit uncomfortable, but between clutching Harry's hand in his lap and sitting closer the window he's been alright so far.)  


They're still buzzing from the show; the sound of the crowd still rings in their ears, the adrenaline is still pumping through their veins and chances are none of them are going to be able to sleep for at least a few hours still.   


It's been relatively calm and quiet for all of two minutes before Louis snorts and kicks at Harry's foot. " _I'd do Niall_ ," he says in a tone that means he's teasing.  


Liam barks out a laugh next to Louis. "Do you realize that's gonna be all over YouTube and Twitter and Tumblr in a matter of hours?"  


"And on the DVD," Zayn quips. "Ya sneaky little bugger." He reaches a hand up to ruffle at Harry's curls to which Harry merely grins quite cheekily.  


"Which means that's gonna be around forever, mate!" Liam shouts, eyes wide with realization and excitement. "If anything ever happens to the Internet and everything gets lost, that moment in which you told an entire stadium full of people you'd have sex with Niall is going to forever be on a DVD. How's that make you feel?"  


Harry smirks, turns his head to look at Niall – who dips his head as the colour rises in his cheeks and the tips of ears. "Brilliant."  


"Here's a question," Louis interjects, leans forward with his elbows on his knees, "if the first thing you would do if you were a girl would be to have sex with Niall and you're currently a boy having sex with Niall – is there a scenario in which you _wouldn't_ -"  


"No, absolutely not," Harry says automatically. "I'll always have sex with Niall."  


Louis smirks, reaches a hand across the space between him and Niall to push gently at Niall's knee. "Real romantic he is, isn't he, Nialler?"  


"You have no idea," Niall snorts.  


Harry frowns. "Heyyyy."  


"Don't think I want to, to be fair," Zayn mutters.  


Liam leans forward then too, mirrors Louis' position. He fingers the brim of his hat, lifts the cap off his head slightly and then places it back over his hair. "Can I point out that that could've been both the best and worst way for the two of you to come out? Also that was like coming out without _actually_ coming out. Like, straight up."  


"Please tell me you've got something better than that planned though," Zayn scoffs. He makes a face, like he's decidedly unimpressed with Liam's whole idea.  


Niall shrugs, glances sideway at Harry who shrugs back. "We haven't talked about it yet."  


Liam raises a surprised eyebrow. "Really?"  


"We haven't needed to," Harry explains simply. "We like the way things are. Things are easy." The more complex version, he supposes, is that for as long as they've been together – both this time and last time, it's still fairly _new_. It's fragile and it's perfect and neither one of them wants to rush. They don't want to talk about doing something they aren't yet ready to do to begin with.  


"You call sneaking around and dealing with girlfriend rumours easy?"  


"Easier than it'd be if we constantly had people breathing down our necks for interviews and stories," Harry replies.  


"Fair enough," Louis agrees. He looks away, then, and stares out the window, much like how Niall had done earlier – and Harry knows he's thinking about Eleanor.  


Niall kicks his foot out, nudges gently at Louis's toe with his own. "We're happy with this; we like it," he says softly, looks between Louis, Liam and Zayn. "And when the time's right we'll talk about coming out and how we'd like to do it. 'til then, though, things have never been better."  


Harry smiles, more to himself than anyone else. He squeezes Niall's fingers between his own, strokes his thumb over the top of Niall's hand.   


Louis snickers a minute later. "May I make a suggestion?"  


"No," both Harry and Niall say simultaneously.   


The whole van erupts into fits of laughter.  
  
X  
  
"So what are you gonna show me?"  


Harry looks up from his phone, sprawled across the hotel bed in his favourite pair of black skinny jeans and plain, white tee shirt to find Niall walking towards him from the bathroom, fully-clothed. He looks the blond up and down – soft, messy blond fringe, white tank top beneath a red, blue and beige plaid button down with the arms cut off; he looks good, _always_ looks good. Harry frowns anyway. "I liked it better when you didn't have any clothes on."  


Niall smirks, nudges at Harry's foot. "Of course you do."  


Harry sits up, then, grabs hold of the bottom of Niall's tank top with his right hand, pulls the blond to stand in between where his legs are hanging off the side of the bed. He hands Niall his phone without a word; watches, bites his bottom lip nervously and fingers the hem of the shirt as Niall's gaze scans over the screen.   


Niall blinks but doesn't look up from the screen. "What – is this...is it a _song_?"  


Harry nods once. "Ed wrote it. For us."  


"It's fucking amazing," Niall whispers, raises his gaze – which collides with Harry's. "The lads will love it."  


"No, I mean, he wrote it for _us_ , Niall,” he clarifies, albeit tentatively.  


The blond blinks and his breath catches in his throat. He stares down at Harry a bit skeptically as his eyebrows come together in confusion. "He knows?" he asks – and his voice is, again, nothing but a whisper. He sounds hesitant; a bit betrayed.   


Harry immediately regrets not giving him an explanation _first_. "It's not – Niall-"  


"You _told_ him without telling _me_?" Niall asks harshly, pushing Harry's phone against his chest before he takes a step back. He turns, like he's lost, and thrusts a hand through his hair. "What th' hell, Harry!" There's a nervous quiver in Niall's voice this time and Harry recognizes the flicker of panic in Niall's eyes when he whirls back around so they're face to face. He looks less angry and betrayed – probably now that he's had another minute to process the new information -- and more utterly scared.  


"Niall-"  


"I can't – how could you tell him without telling me?" Niall demands.  


Harry pushes himself to his feet, then, and drops his phone on the bed. "He hasn't told anyone. He wouldn't-"  


"How long has he known?"  


The brunette licks his lips, reaches out to put his hands on Niall's hips. He brings Niall closer, kisses his unresponsive lips and then pushes him back towards the bed. Niall goes where he's lead; sits when the backs of his knees hit the edge. Harry brushes a hand through Niall's hair, then, and tilts his head back so they're looking at each other.   


"I told him _before_ ," Harry murmurs, "-before we even...before we even started seeing each other." He takes a breath, smiles gently. "I was in love with you for _so long_ before you noticed me, Niall, and he sort of guessed it before anyway and I just – I needed someone to talk to. I needed someone to know how I felt about you so I didn't feel completely alone."  


The look on Niall's face softens to one of compassion and adoration. "How long have you been in love with me?" he asks softly, genuinely.   


Harry smirks. "Since we were 18."  


Niall grins back like he gets it; like it makes sense. Like the song now means _something_. He reaches up, fists the front of Harry's shirt in one hand and curling the other around Harry's neck as he pulls the other boy down – and then kisses him hard. He tugs gently with his teeth at Harry's bottom lip and then licks into Harry's mouth as he lies back, pulling Harry down on top of him on the bed.   
  
X  
  
Harry's sitting on the bed, back against the headboard, legs bent at the knees with his journal pressed to his thigh; he's hiding out, alone in his and Niall's hotel room in Las Vegas. He's also babysitting, hence the teeny-tiny, blond-haired and blue-eyed toddler tucked into his left side.  


Niall's been out partying, celebrating his 21st birthday, for the better part of the night with Zayn, Lou, Julian and a few of Niall's friends from London, including Marvin, and a couple of Niall’s friends from Ireland. Harry would've gone, if he were of age – they might have been able to sneak him in if they were almost anywhere else other than Las Vegas, to be fair, but he isn't of age and he didn't quite feel like staying in Pasadena with Liam and Louis, so here he's been: hanging out with Lux and filling his journal with lyrics to a song he's wanted to write for ages.  


He's twirling a blue pen between his fingers when he hears the ruckus outside in the hallway; loud whispers (Niall,) someone falling into the wall beside the door (probably Niall,) snickering and giggling (still Niall.) Zayn shushes Niall and that's when Harry hears the keycard get swiped and he closes his journal, sets it on the bedside table next to him as the door open.  


Zayn, Niall and Lou filter (stumble) into the room, then, and in that exact order. Niall's right arm is thrown around Zayn's shoulders and his left arm is hung around Lou's waist whilst both Zayn and Lou have arms curled around Niall for support.  


"Ha-az!" Niall exclaims. His eyes are wide and glassy and the whites of them are bit red, his cheeks are splashed pink and his hair is sticking up every-which-way, standing on end, a bit damp and sweaty. He's drunk, _so_ drunk, and Harry can smell the beer from across the room.  


"Shh – inside voice, Nialler," Lou scolds him half-heartedly.  


"Right, shhh," Niall slurs in return. He trips, then, on his own foot and giggles as Zayn struggles to keep him from falling over.  


Lux stirs slightly – but doesn't wake –when Harry moves to pick her up; he pulls her into his arms, cradles her against his chest and then pushes himself towards the edge of the bed.  


"Let's make a trade," Lou starts as Harry climbs to his feet, "your boyfriend for my daughter."  


And then it's a bit of a struggle – a mess of tangled limbs as they make the trade; Zayn becomes Niall's main support as Lou lets go of Niall's waist, maneuvers herself out of his grip and then reaches for her daughter, who's still miraculously asleep. Once Lux is comfortable in Lou's arms, her little face buried in the crook of Lou's neck, Harry reaches out for Niall, hands on his hips to keep him from falling over just as Niall falls away from Zayn and into Harry.   


Niall fists some of the fabric of Harry's tee shirt in his fingers as he drops his forehead against Harry's collarbone.  


Harry smirks, turns back towards the bed to sit Niall down on top of it before following Zayn and Lou towards the door – both of whom bid Niall a good sleep although Niall's busied himself with his phone. He thanks them, although he knows he doesn't have to – knows they'd do just about anything for Niall – and then presses a kiss to the crown of Lux's head before closing the door behind them.

 

Niall's got his arms caught above his head in his shirt when Harry turns back around – and Harry smirks on his way over to help him. He pulls at Niall's shirt, gets it over his head, which tousles his blond hair even more, and then pulls it all the way up until Niall's arms are free.  
Niall drops his arms to his sides, then, and looks up at Harry through heavily-lidded eyes. He smiles, tilts his head to the side. "Hiii," he slurs.   


"Hi," Harry chuckles. He runs one hand through Niall's hair and cups the side of Niall's face in the other, strokes his thumb over Niall's red cheek. "Let's get you out of these clothes, then, birthday boy."  


Niall hums, flops back against the bed with his arms spread out at this sides. He's so drunk – and tired, Harry can tell – that he doesn't even _try_ to make it sexual. He just lets Harry reach for his belt, let's Harry undo his jeans, let's Harry peel them down his legs.  


"On a scale of one to 10, how Irish do you think I am?" Niall asks, then.  


Harry snorts, cradling Niall's left leg in one hand whilst pulling the leg of his jeans off over his foot. "I think you're _drunk_ , babe."  


"'m not that dr'nk," Niall slurs in protest. "'m Irish."  


"I'm well aware," Harry laughs, pulls Niall's jeans off the other foot. " _And_ you're pretty drunk." He pauses, pulls his own shirt off over his head and then proceeds to work on the button of his own skinny jeans. "Did you have fun?"  


Niall nods. "Loads," he gushes, pushing himself up – with much difficulty – and plants his hands into the mattress behind him. "I always forget how _fun_ clubbing is."  


"Yeah?"  


"Yeah, like – I like pubs, y'know? I like t' be able t' talk to people and to just, like, relax. But clubbing is just... _fun_ ," Niall explains.  


"Yeah," Harry murmurs fondly. He pats at Niall's bare thigh before crawling on to the bed. He gets under the duvet, leaves it open and tucks his feet underneath Niall's left thigh.   
Niall grins, shifts on to his hands and knees, crawls up the length of Harry's body. He takes the corner of the duvet out of Harry's hand, pulls it over him as he lies down on top of Harry; legs splayed straight out between Harry's. He nuzzles his nose against Harry's chest, just above the butterfly, and breathes him in steadily. "I missed you, y'know," he murmurs, presses a chaste kiss to Harry's smooth, tanned skin before turning his head to rest it there.  


Harry snorts playfully. "No you didn't."  


"I did."  


Harry can feel the smile pull back Niall's cheek against his chest. "How could you miss me? I'm sure you were far too busy taking shots and mingling to even _think_ about me, let alone miss me."  


"Well, yeah," Niall smirks, lifting his head to rest his chin on Harry's chest; looks him in the eye. "But I still missed you. I wished you were there. I kept turning around expecting you to be somewhere talking to someone but you weren't and I missed you. I had fun – but I missed you anyway."  


A smile tugs at Harry's lips and he's pretty sure Niall can _hear_ how fast and harsh his heart is beating inside his chest. He runs a hand through Niall's hair, plays absentmindedly with the short pieces at the back of his head. "I missed you too."  


Niall snorts. "Now _that_ , I doubt."  


Harry quirks an eyebrow. "Why's that?"  


"How did you find time to miss me when you hung out with _Lux_ all night?"  


Harry pretends to look thoughtful for a moment, tilts his head up to look at the ceiling before looking back down into Niall's beautiful, blue and playfully expectant eyes. "Yeah, guess you're right," he shrugs. "Suppose I didn't miss you at all. Lux is _way_ more fun than you've ever been."  


Niall rolls his eyes, pushes himself to nip his teeth at Harry's chin before pressing a long, slow kiss to Harry's lips. "Idiot," he murmurs into Harry's mouth when he pulls away-  
And then Harry's hand presses down on the back of Niall's head to bring him back down, to hold him there – and his other arm comes up to wrap around Niall's slip waist as he flips them over. He settles between Niall's thighs, kisses Niall harder and brings the hand behind Niall's head forward to cup Niall's face. "Wanna give you your other gift," he murmurs between kisses. "You up for it, birthday boy?"  


Niall smirks, pushes his hips up; grinds his own hard length against Harry's. "You tell me."  
  
X  
  
Harry hasn't been able to stop thinking about proposals for the last two days. Ever since helping that bloke, Bradley, plan a proposal for his girlfriend it's all he's thought about; all the ways he could propose to Niall, all the places he could propose to Niall.   


They're not ready for it, he knows that much. But they will be, eventually – maybe after they've done everything else they've set out to do – and when they are, when he _knows_ that they are, he wants to be ready.  


He walks into the main dressing room, where the boys collect themselves once they've changed in their own individual change rooms before every show in every venue. Liam's playing about on his phone, Louis and Zayn are playing some racing game on the Xbox and Niall's sat there watching them. It's going to be their last show for a while, save for the stuff they'll be doing in Orlando for FOUR's release next month. There's excitement in the air, the way there always is – but there's also an air of nervousness, one that's different from the rest and similar to the kind before the _first_ show of every tour.  


"Niall," Harry announces.  


"Hmm?"  


"When the time comes, I'm proposing to you on stage."  


There's a shift in atmosphere then; everyone seems to stop what they're doing for a second or two but nobody says anything before going back to doing what they were doing. Everyone except Niall, who stares up at Harry dumbfounded.   


Perhaps bringing such a thing up right _now_ – in front of the lads – isn't the brightest thing Harry's ever done, but it isn't all that unusual either. They've never been a _normal_ couple and, well, they've have much more private discussions in front of these lads than this; more than is strictly necessary, to be fair.   


Niall blinks. "What?"  


Harry sits down next to him, lays his legs across Niall's lap comfortably and leans his back against the arm of the sofa. "I mean, think about it," he starts – because obviously he's thought about it, "if we're still touring when the time is right, then proposing to you on stage would be _perfect_ , right? That's what I was hoping Bradley would do the other night but he jumped the gun on me a little bit."  


"You want to propose to me in front of thousands of people during a show..." Niall says, voice trailing off.   


"Yeah, I think-"  


"No. Absolutely not."  


Harry furrows his eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"  


Niall scoffs. "Because if you propose to me on stage I'm saying no – and if I have to say no I'm gonna be incredibly mad at you."  


"Why?!"  


"Because! Because grand, public gestures are nice and all and it's great for that couple – I'm happy for them – but we're not that kind of couple, Harry," Niall starts. His voice has softened a bit; sounds calmer now that the initial shock has worn off. "Everything we do and say is already under a fucking microscope; imagine what it's going to be like when we come out. And then imagine what it would be like if thousands – and then millions more – got to put _that_ under a microscope too."  


Harry frowns. "I think you're over-exaggerating. I think that when the time comes and we're ready, it won't matter what everybody else thinks-"  


"Except it could. You know it could."  


And yes, Niall's right, it _could_ , "But-"  


"There are some things I like to keep to meself, Haz," Niall continues softly. His hand finds one of Harry's and his fingers slip in between the spaces between Harry's finger. "There are so many things I _can’t_ keep to myself, that I'll never have for myself – but I can have _you_ for myself. And I'll want your proposal for myself – or mine, come to think of it."  


"No, absolutely not," Harry scoffs, his previous protest immediately forgotten. He can live with not getting to propose with a grand gesture and sappy speech on stage – but this is where he draws the line. "I'm proposing."  


Niall quirks an amused eyebrow. "Says who?"  


"Says me."  


"But what if _I_ want to propose?"  


"You're not allowed because _I'm_ proposing."  


"Harry-"  


"I call dibs."  


Niall rolls his eyes dramatically. "You can't just call dibs and expect-"  


Louis scoffs incredibly loudly. "Are you guys really having a row over which one of you is going to be the one to propose?"  


"Yes," they both snap at the same time, though their gazes never leave each other's.  


"Well then I think you can skip all that and then some; you already fight like a _married_ couple."  


Niall looks at him, a small, shy smile tugging at his lips and shining in his bright blue eyes.

Harry smiles back and then captures Niall's lips in a kiss, moans when Niall kisses back and licks into his mouth and tugs at Harry's long curls. The lads don't even pretend to be grossed out anymore; they don't groan or shove or throw things at them to make them stop showing affection; they don't "complain". And even if they did Harry still wouldn't care because he's never been more in love.   
  
X  
  
The next couple of months consists mostly of their album promo. They have a couple weeks off after the last show of the tour in Miami and then it's all work, once more, until the beginning of December.   
They make appearances on talk shows like Ellen and Jimmy Kimmel; they launch their album in Orlando on the Today Show and then proceed to film scenes and performances for the TV special that's slotted to air in December. They attend the AMAs in Hollywood, fly down to Australia for the ARIA Awards and then a couple weeks later they attend and perform at NRJ Awards in France. The day after that, they perform _Where Do Broken Hearts Go_ for the very first time with Ronnie Wood on the X Factor Finale.  


They're somehow less busy and simultaneously more busy than when they were on tour and spending time together, just NiallandHarry, seems next to impossible.   


And then the Christmas holidays happen.   
  
X  
  
In a perfect world they'd be able to spend time with each other _and_ both of their families for the Christmas holidays but due to scheduling conflicts on _both_ sides, they're unable to do that. So, instead, they decide to have their own Christmas Eve – on the night before Niall is booked to fly home to Ireland. (Without Harry, Harry wants to emphasize.)  


It's snowing lightly when Harry shows up at Niall's flat with a bottle of wine, some beer and an armful of neatly wrapped Christmas gifts. Niall complains; pouts because he only got Harry _one_ gift and Harry really shouldn't have gone out and spent all kinds of money on multiple gifts for _him_ – and the only thing that shuts him up is a swift kiss to Niall's lips.  


Niall makes dinner – a fry-up he found in that Jamie Oliver cookbook he keeps in his kitchen – whilst Harry "mans the bar" and (mostly) just watches Niall and talks to Niall. The fry-up isn't very festive – like, at all – but the way Niall sees it is this: they'll both be eating "more than enough Turkey and stuffing with our families and the only thing better than Christmas dinner for dinner is breakfast for dinner. And, well, who is Harry to argue?  


They eat in the living room, sprawled across the couch, watching _Love Actually_ because it's Harry’s favourite movie of all time. After they've finished they do the dishes together – and because they're Harry and Niall they wind up soaked and soapy from head to toe in the middle of the kitchen, giggling and panting.  


Niall pushes his wet, blond fringe back away from his face. He looks at Harry, tilts his head as he reaches out and twirls one of Harry's own drenched locks around his fingers. "They're right, you know."  


Harry quirks an eyebrow, lips pulling back into a suspicious smile. "Who's right?"  


"The fans – when they say you look like baby Tarzan with wet hair."  


"Heyyy," Harry pouts.  


Niall smirks, then, and tugs Harry closer by the wet collar of his jumper. "Little more _sexy_ than 'baby' though, to be fair."  


Harry cocks his head. "Better," he murmurs. Niall giggles and Harry's gaze falls to land on Niall's blue lips and chattering teeth. "You're cold."  


"A bit. No big deal, though, I'll just go get us some clothes to change-"  


"Or – _or_..." he trails off, fingering the bottom of Niall's jumper; he tugs on it then pushes his hands underneath, let's his fingers skim across Niall's bare, cold torso. "Or we can just, you know, get naked and use body heat-"  


Niall raises an eyebrow. "Body heat. _Just_ body heat?"  


Harry shrugs, glides his fingers all the way up Niall's smooth, pale torso; pushes Niall's arms up so he can pull the blond's jumper off over his head. Niall's hair is a mess, damp and sticking out every which way and he grins, smug and beautiful. Harry presses their foreheads together; brushes their noses. "Body heat's just the beginning," he murmurs.  


Niall surges forward, presses his lips against Harry's; pushes Harry up against the counter; fumbles clumsily with Harry's belt buckle whilst Harry struggles to pull his own jumper over his head.  


And that's how they end up naked on the living room floor by the Christmas tree, damp clothes strewn across the kitchen; breathless, fucked-out and giggly. They've pulled down two throw-blankets from the couch, one to cover the carpet and one to cover themselves – and Niall's sprawled across Harry's chest, hips still straddling Harry's waist.   


"Guess it's a good thing I told Willie to leave tonight, huh," Niall pants against the crook of Harry's neck.  


Harry chokes on a laugh, tosses his head back. He strokes a hand through Niall's hair, down his back and then rests it on Niall's round arse cheek whilst trailing the other up and down Niall's arm. "Wouldn't be the first time," he points out.  


Niall snorts. "Yea but in his own living room? That'd be one hell of a Christmas present."  


Harry perks up, then, rolls Niall off of him. He sits up, let's the blanket pool around his waist as he turns his torso around to drag three wrapped boxes out from where he'd placed them under the tree when he arrived. "Speaking of presents – for you, m'lad," he says cheekily whilst handing Niall the thinner of the three.  


Niall sitting up now, the blankets looked around his hips, with his back against the shorter part of his L-shaped couch. He opens it slowly; pulls on the red ribbon and watches it unravel and then, very carefully – the way he's done since he was a child – unwraps the wrapping paper. He stares at the thing before him, all black except for white, cursive writing in the middle that reads: _The World, by Niall Horan_. He looks across at Harry, who's mirrored his position with his back against the other part of the couch, and doesn't look back down – doesn't open it – until Harry nods encouragingly. And it’s with shaky hands and fingers that he does so.  


It's a photo album. It's a photo album full of every picture, every place, every memory of this journey they've been on, the band – this _life_ they've lived – that Niall's ever kept to himself.

 

There are literally four and a half _years’_ worth of photos.  


Niall recognizes each and every photo, remembers where they were taken and why he took them – and why he kept them for himself instead of publishing them to world through Instagram or Twitter. He blinks back tears and blinks in confusion as he continues to flip through the pages. "Wha- How did you..." he trails off, loses his voice in the lump that's formed in his throat.  


Harry smirks. "Knowing the password to your phone helped."  


"You're a sneak, then."  


"I prefer the term _resourceful_."  


Niall rolls his eyes fondly. "Why?"  


Harry shrugs. "You're always talking about how you never want it to end, how you always want to remember all of this – more than any of us," he explains softly. "I knew you had loads of pictures you've never done anything with because you wanted to keep the memories sacred – and I also knew you hadn't decided what you wanted to do with them yet. I just...I wanted you to have something so you didn't have to worry about it later, y'know? And this way all you have to do is add to it, you don't-"  


Niall cuts him off with a kiss and a hand cupping the back of Harry's head. "It's perfect," he murmurs against Harry's lips when he pulls back a moment later. " _You're_ bloody perfect."  


"There's more."  


"I literally don't even need anything else," Niall says as he pulls all the way back. "This is beyond... _beyond_ thoughtful."  


Harry smiles, tilts his head. "Open 'em anyway though, yeah?"  


Niall does as he's told; unwraps one gift and opens the box to reveal an all-black _Lakers_ SnapBack atop a brand new pair of and black and floral Vans. The second gift is a pair of brown Chelsea boots similar to the pair Niall's nicked from Harry's suitcase every now and again.  


Harry starts talking, then, because Niall's silent; starts telling Niall he wanted Niall to have a pair in his own size so his feet won't hurt from wearing Harry's because they're too big – and that's when Niall tosses the boxes aside, crawls across the space between them and kisses Harry. It's far more innocent and twice as sweet as the last time Niall kissed him, seconds before Harry coaxed Niall's orgasm out of him.  


Niall pulls back a minute later, presses his forehead against Harry's. "Thank you."  


"You're welcome," Harry grins.  


"'s your turn now then, innit?"  


Harry cocks his head to the side. "Pretty sure I already unwrapped _my_ present."  


Niall rolls his eyes as he pushes himself to his feet. "Idiot."  


The brunette smirks, swats playfully at Niall's pasty, squishy bum as the blond boy turns to walk away. Niall cups the cheek Harry gets a hand on as he walks towards the tree and Harry watches him, in all his naked glory, reach an arm behind the tree.  


Niall pauses, then, and cranes his neck to look back at Harry. "I couldn't figure out the best way to wrap it without giving it away because – well, you'll see."  


Harry sits up, genuinely curious, and continues to watch as Niall pulls a large, suspiciously guitar-shaped canvas case out from behind the tree. He blinks, eyebrows furrowed in confusion as Niall lugs it back towards their makeshift bed on the floor.  


"So, this is probably gonna sound really dumb but hear me out, yeah?" Niall breathes as he, with Harry's help, lays the case on the floor in front of Harry.  


Harry nods – because _of course_ he's going to let Niall explain. Not that he even needs much of an explanation.  


"I just, I wanted you to have your _own_ ," Niall says, sitting back on the floor on the other side of the case. He pulls a corner of the blanket he'd pushed off early back over him. "Like, I don't mind you taking mine – not at all – and I know you borrow some of Dan's but having your own is just so much _better_. This way you can have it with you all the time, especially now that you're playing more, and you never have to give it back." He pauses, fingers picking absentmindedly at the seam of the canvas. "If it's stupid just tell me and I'll get ya-  


"It's perfect," Harry says softly around the lump in his throat. He really shouldn't be getting so emotional – and over a _guitar_ , of all things, like he's never been in the presence of one a thousand times before; like his own boyfriend doesn't have about a _dozen_ hanging on a wall in his house.  


"You haven't even seen it."  


"Doesn't matter," Harry murmurs, shaking his head. "It's perfect. _You're bloody perfect_."  


Niall rolls his eyes playfully.  


Harry reaches forward, then, finds the zipper around the top and starts to unzip it. "Always wanted a guitar. I was just too busy buying them for everyone else."  


"Who said it was guitar?" Niall teases.  


It's a guitar. It's a plain and simple thing with a small _HS_ written in cursive near the bottom, rounded corner. It's shiny and it's new – and yet the only thing he _really_ cares about is that it's _Niall_ who bought it for him. _Niall_.  


"Haz," Niall calls out to him expectantly, reaches across the guitar between them to nudge at Harry's knee. "I asked you if it's ok – or would you prefer a different style or-"  


"It's perfect," Harry repeats.   


Niall grins, all pearly whites and bright pink lips and teeny tiny dimples and shining eyes, as he pushes himself up. The blanket falls away from his hips as he leans over the guitar and he pulls Harry in for a firm, bruising kiss with a hand at the back of Harry's head.   


Harry moans and kisses back; pushes the guitar out of the way with one hand whilst the other fumbles with Niall's hip to pull him closer. "'s your turn, innit?"  
  
+  
  
Harry shivers when Niall's breath gets caught in the curls at the back of his neck – which is where Niall's nose is buried. He's lying on his stomach, a pillow clutched to his chest; arms like jelly; legs still shaky. Niall's dick is soft against Harry's bum; the length of Niall's body pressed and sprawled across the length of Harry's; one hand clutched, fingers intertwined with Harry's whilst the other draws random shapes and patterns up and down Harry's shoulder. And, God, Harry _loves_ being the little spoon – especially when Niall's already been on him, in him and all around him.  


"'t sucks you can't be on that plane with me tomorrow..." Niall murmurs, voice a bit raspy. He nuzzles his nose deeper into the back of Harry's neck. "Could be an Ireland two-point-oh trip."  


Harry smirks. "Too bad our families couldn't plan their holidays around _us_."  


"I mean, what's up with that anyway?" Niall jokes in response.  


Harry laughs softly. Silence falls between them once more – the rare, comfortable kind; the kind you share with someone you're completely, irrevocably comfortable with because enjoying their company isn't just about the conversation. He rolls over, then, and Niall lets go of his hand, moves back to give him room to lie back flat with his back against the pillows. He hums when Niall brushes a hand through his hair.  


Niall nips at his chin before wrapping himself all around Harry; Harry still feels like a little spoon.  
"I could always change my plans," Harry says; breaks the silence. "Fly out with you tomorrow, come back late Christmas Eve so I can at least be home for Boxing Day-"  


"No, Harry – no way. You're not ditching your mum on Christmas for me. Besides, you haven't seen the rest of your family in ages either."  


Harry sighs. "I know."  


The blond lifts his head, rests his chin on Harry's shoulder to look at him. "When are you flying out to LA?"  


"Haven't decided yet," Harry shrugs. "Probably before New Year’s Eve though. They want to get in the studio to start writing as soon as possible."  


Niall nods, lies his head back down.  


Harry takes a breath, holds it briefly. "You should come out with me," he says. "Or meet me there after." He's been thinking about it a lot lately. About having Niall in LA; about spending time with Niall in LA; about spending more time, in general, on break with Niall. And maybe it has something to do with how things got put on hold last time – in fact, Harry knows it does but he also knows it's different this time.  


Niall smirks. "And do what? Hide out in your fancy house?"  


"No, I mean – to write too. You could write with us. Could do like Liam and Louis."  


Niall leans back, rests on an elbow and raises an eyebrow. "Except that would defeat the purpose, would it not? Writing songs about each other when we're in the same room..?"  


Harry pouts playfully. "I was thinking it would be _romantic_."  


"Romantic?"  


"Yeah. We could light some candles-"  


"Scented candles?"   


"'Course. Then we could dim the lights; set the mood-"  


"You're so lame, Haz," Niall teases fondly. He pokes Harry in the side before rolling his torso away to lie back against another pillow. "Besides, Deo's still talking about wanting me to go down to Aus in January to spend a few weeks with the lads before the tour starts."  


Harry looks sideways at him for a brief moment before he pushes himself up and over Niall, hovers above him. "You think you're gonna go?"  


"Yeah, probably. I love going down, so-"  


Harry quirks an eyebrow, sprawls himself across Niall's chest. "Believe me, I know you do," he murmurs, nuzzling his nose against Niall's collarbone.   


"Ew, get off me!" Niall shouts, feigning disgust. He pushes, albeit feebly, at Harry's shoulders; pretends to struggle when Harry doesn't budge. "Why do I love you?" he groans.  


"I like it when you say that. Say it again."  


Niall smirks. "Get off me."  


Harry whines, "Niallll."  


Niall stops "struggling" and cards a hand through Harry's hair, pushing his head back gently until Harry's looking right at him; green and blue. "I love you," he whispers.  


Harry's heart swells and his chest tightens and the butterflies – Harry _still_ gets butterflies – come to life in his stomach.   
  
+  
  
He's in the middle of getting dressed, one leg in his jeans, when he sees the envelope on top of Niall's pillow. He's alone – had woken up that way, Niall having left a few hours ago for Heathrow. (And he didn't even panic this time because he knows where Niall is; knows Niall will be back; knows where they're at.)  


They'd gone to bed late last night – much later than either of them, for Niall's sake, had meant to. Because after two rounds next to a brightly-lit Christmas tree, a gift exchange and just, well, talking for _hours_ on end, neither one of them had wanted to move. It had been Harry who had eventually coaxed Niall into getting up and tidying up the living room so they wouldn't get stuck doing it in the morning. And it had taken almost twice as long to clean it all up than it had to make the mess in the first place.  


It's addressed to him, the envelope, as it should be and there's a lump in his throat the size of a golf ball as he opens it. There's a sheet of paper folded inside – and a key. He turns the key over in his fingers a few times, stares at it for moment as he sits on the edge of Niall's bed before he unfolds the paper with his other, shaky hand.   


It's Niall's handwriting.  


_Mornin', Haz  
  
If you're reading this then I'm probably on the plane right now. I would've woken you except you always look so peaceful when you're sleeping and I couldn't bear to ruin that.   
  
You'll notice I've left you a key. I lied when I said I hadn't gotten you anything else because this your other present. It's not much – and you probably won't have to use it very much but it's yours. I want you to have it. (I may also want you to lock up after you leave but the important part is that you get to  keep after! Haha)  
  
Anyway, that's all I really wanted to say for now. I'll call you later!  
  
I have loved you_  
  
Harry has to wait for the wave of undeniable adoration and tears to pass – waits for his heart to stop pounding too loud in his ears and for the butterflies to die down – before can even bring himself to unlock his phone. He doesn't know what to say. Doesn't think anything he _could_ say could even come close to accurately describing just how much this means to him; how long he's wanted something like this; how much or how long he's _loved_ Niall.  


And so he responds with the only thing that makes sense, in this moment – in every moment, really:   


_Since we were 18._

**Fin**


End file.
